Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Hermione hadn't expected that at work she'd learn how much her head could bleed once injured. She especially hadn't expected she'd forget every important detail of her life by the end of the day.

Life altering events should come with a sense of premonition. She should have woken with trepidation burning her stomach and worried about the aura of hesitation that permeated every part of the day. She shouldn’t have experienced a beautiful sunrise wrapped in the arms of her boyfriend. She deserved thunderstorms and heavy winds.

The morning of her accident, Hermione didn’t cherish the feeling of Draco’s warm arm around her waist like she should have. She squirmed against his weight and wrinkled her nose at the smell of his morning breath.

She didn't try to memorise what it was like to see him up close. Instead, she pushed him off of her and groaned when his grip tightened.

“Not yet,” he mumbled into her hair.

She shook her head and pressed a light kiss on his nose.

“I have work, and you, sir, have a meeting with Theo.”

“Fuck Theo, and fuck the ministry, too.” His hand curled into her hair and he pressed kisses up and down her neck. “Don’t leave yet. The bed is so warm. Sleep is so nice.”

“We have work,” Hermione said, her resolve waning. It had disappeared completely when he pulled her flush to his body.

“I can think of something much more fun than work.”

“I have—Draco, I have to get ready.”

Her voice trailed off as his greedy fingers danced up her stomach towards her breasts. Every inch they travelled left a trail of fire behind.

Her breath caught when he reached her nipple, circling it with a feather-light touch.

“You were saying?” he asked.

“M-maybe I can wait a few minutes to get ready. It is early, after all. We have plenty of time to—”

“So generous,” he interrupted moments before their lips connected.

That morning, neither of them appreciated the enormity of what they did together. They didn’t fuck with the desperation that came from anticipating a tragedy. They didn’t make love like it was the only thing they needed to do.

They had sex.

Simple, typical sex. Him on top of her, because it was easier for her to get off that way. She had an orgasm and then he had one. It was nice, but nothing remarkable.

It ended with him panting on the bed, watching a naked Hermione search the room for what she wanted to wear. She tossed out random blouses that were ‘unsuitable' for the day.

“You should go for the green one,” Draco said, propping himself up on an elbow. “You can show those bastards where your loyalties lie.”

“You will never turn me into a Slytherin, no matter how hard you try.”

“Never say never. I’ve corrupted you this much. Who’s to say what might happen next?”

“I’m going to choose a neutral purple. I may find myself surrounded by Gryffindors, so I’ll need to keep my cover around them.”

He stood, stretching while he walked over to her. “As if they don’t already know the truth about us.”

She smiled to herself.

Life with Draco was strange, wonderful, but strange all the same. She didn’t expect things to be so... simple with him. The entire journey leading to their relationship was anything but, so she was glad she had something easy with him.

Draco placed his chin on her shoulder, distracting her from her thoughts. The warmth of his body around her felt so nice. She couldn’t help but sigh into his touch.

“What do you have going on today?” he asked.

“Well, yesterday, I kissed Kingsley’s arse long enough to convince him to let me make a prototype potion.”

“As long as that’s the only thing you kissed, I’m glad it was okay. I'm surprised he agreed, the guy’s usually a total tosser. “

“Oh, I had to promise him I'd owe him a political favour at some point, but that's typical for him. But that means I’ll be going to the department of mysteries to pick up some supplies.”

That piqued his interest. He moved even closer to her, letting his fingers glide down her body and rest on her hips.

“I hope you have to go to the Love Chamber.”

Hermione gasped and turned around to glare at him. “You promised you wouldn’t joke about that.”

He kissed her jaw and said, “I'm not joking. I want nothing more than a repeat of the last time you went in there. I’ll keep my phone with me in case you need my services. Maybe I’ll even take the afternoon off, just so I can be on call in case any needs arise.”

The one and only time she went into the Love Chamber had caused her to finally understand how dangerous the Department of Mysteries was.

What started as gathering materials for an antidepressant potion ended with her knocking over a large vial of something. As a dutiful ministry employee, she cleaned up her mistake. Ten minutes later, while she fanned herself in her office, she realised that the potion she had cleaned had been the remnants of a lust potion.

The fumes alone made her take the entire afternoon off. Draco, who she'd been dating for less than a month, had received a very interesting message from her saying ‘if you want to stay in a relationship with me you’ll be home in five minutes completely naked.’

Draco was there in two minutes and 27 seconds.

“There will not be a repeat of that again,” she said. “Besides, I’m going to the brain room. There should be no rogue potion accidents today.”

“A shame, really. That makes my day noticeably less exciting.” A devious expression appeared on his face while he got dressed as well. “Maybe you should drink the lust potion this time, in the name of science, of course. It could make for an interesting experiment.”

“In the interest of science, I’m going to decline that offer.” She patted him on the cheek as she left their room. “Are you going to the Ministry today as well?”

He followed closely behind.

“I am. I have a consult with Magical Games and Sports this morning.”

“Sounds fun.”

She stretched her hand out towards him in front of their floo. Hand in hand, they threw down the floo powder and called out for the Ministry.

It was simple moments like that — the ones dressed in comfort and satisfaction that — she didn’t know how to appreciate. Once her and Draco started dating, it seemed like a foregone conclusion that they’d be together forever. Even with how little time they’d been in a relationship, it felt like they’d been dating forever. 

No one ever knew how to appreciate the things they assumed were permanent.

Still hand in hand, they spoke about the potion she was planning while making their way through the ministry’s atrium on the way to the lift.

“I don’t think you should add any fluxweed,” Draco said, his eyes unfocused in thought. “I don’t think that acts well with the other limbic system enhancing materials.”

“But this potion is for memory, and I think—”

The opening of the lift’s door quieted her.

Oh.

Harry and Ron were there, leaning against the wall. Once they noticed her, they narrowed their eyes on the floor.

Draco’s grip tightened, and he stood stoically beside her.

“H-hello,” Hermione said softly.

Harry and Ron nodded at her in greeting, but otherwise remained silent.

With each ding of the lift on their agonising trip upwards, Hermione’s stomach clenched.

Finally, finally, the doors opened, and Harry and Ron rushed out. They left Hermione clutching onto a quiet Draco.

“I hate them,” he mumbled. “They have no right to treat you like that.”

“I-I, well, we can’t say we’ve been the nicest to them.”

“Yes, but—”

She couldn’t hand this conversation. Not again. Not when she had to think about meetings with the minister and potions she needed to create.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

He looked at her, arguments floating in his mind, before he sighed.

“Okay, fine. I’ll drop it. How long do you think you’ll work tonight?”

She smiled, thankful for the change in the subject. “I’m going to try to stay no later than 7, but you know how I get.”

“How about I grab dinner for us?” He held up a hand at her immediate protest. “If you’re still at the Ministry past 8, I’ll drop it off for you.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

The doors opened with a ding. “Not nearly as much as I deserve. Keep telling me though, you know how much I love hearing that come out your pretty little mouth.” He motioned for her to exit first.

They walked in a comfortable silence to her office, where they found Arthur Weasley waiting for them.

“Good morning, Hermione... Draco.”

They both said their hello’s. Draco kissed her cheek.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too. Go save the world or whatever rubbish you two get up to today.” He rolled his eyes and waved again at Arthur before he took his leave.

“I heard you’re going to the department of mysteries today. Want a partner?” Arthur asked, shifting his gaze away from the doorway where Draco had just left.

Hermione smiled at him, grateful for his help.

How Arthur ended up one of the few Weasleys she still talked to was confusing to her, even despite her intimate knowledge of how her relationship with the family had crumbled over the past year.

She tried her best not to fault Arthur for how closely he resembled his son, but sometimes it was hard. She missed Ron terribly. She longed for his easy smile, long nose, and freckles that painted his face. Now she was barely allowed to look at Ron.

Ron’s presence in her life had been simple. Hermione missed the times when all of her friendships were simple.

It was a quick trip down to the department of mysteries to get the correct approval needed to enter the facility.

She pulled out her list of desired potion materials before she steadied herself to enter the brain room.

When she opened the door, a blast of cold air chilled her blood. The room was permeated with magic. She could sense it everywhere, from the way it tasted in the air to how it wrapped around her own source of magic. It wasn’t painful. It was a steady stream of sensation, one that filled every part of her mind.

That was before the floating brains noticed her. At that point she would become swarmed with spirits, floating into the room begging to give her some information.

Hermione, grab extra jobberknoll feathers. They are used up very quickly. The voice slithered into her mind.

It was an unsettling sensation to hear a voice without it being audible. The sound drilled through the bones of her skull and advanced straight into her brain.

“Thank you. That’s good advice.” She smiled at the brain that floated in front of her. It bounced up and down, its version of a nod, then travelled away from her in a smooth glide.

The brain room used to creep Hermione out. It was forbidden for most people to enter without the appropriate authorization. Hermione thought that was for good reason. Hearing things that only she could hear used to creep her out. It was an unnerving and unnatural room, at least according to her previous sentiments.

It was Arthur’s complete bafflement at her squeamishness that convinced her of the amazing potential of the room. He loved it and often said it was some of the best conversations he could get. She eventually agreed. She had learned more about history in this room than she ever had from a textbook.

As she finished grabbing brain-soaked rose thorns, she headed to the section with the jobberknoll feathers. She looked up and saw Arthur speaking animatedly with a brain in front of him. She smiled as she overheard his one-sided conversation.

“Fascinating. Tell me more.” Arthur stood on the balls of his feet while talking to the brain.

“Is that Clover?” Hermione asked over her shoulder as she was gathering her materials.

“Yes. It’s telling me about the prophecy it gave a young boy before he went off to battle.” He paused for a moment as he looked back at the brain. “It wants me to tell you that the boy’s name was Alexios.”

“Fascinating!”

Spirits were a funny sort of thing. There was a strange purity that invaded their voices and their actions. Some of them only had enough energy to speak every once in a while. The others, the souls with more powerful magic, she could easily become friends with.

They longed to tell stories they had from when they were alive. They often gave unsolicited, yet usually helpful, advice. Sometimes they asked for certain pieces of outside news. Hermione and Arthur were always excited to fulfil those requests.

Clover, a nickname that Arthur and Hermione gave a specific brain, was one of the first spirits that she had become friends with. Hermione suspected Clover was an Oracle of Delphi since most of its stories had to deal with ancient Greek prophecies. It refused to confirm or deny her suspicions.

Hermione always got excited whenever Clover spoke to them. She held little stock in divination, but it was hard to deny how intoxicating the knowledge the spirits gave off was.

Arthur’s eyes were far away as he continued his conversation with Clover. All of his energy was focused on the sounds coming into his mind.

When Hermione finished collecting her supplies, she walked over to Clover, hoping she could convince it to speak with her once it was done with Arthur. The air grew colder with each step she took towards it. Eventually, everything around her became still.

Hermione took a deep breath and reached out to touch the brain.

All was silent before she noticed the low, guttural voice in her head.

Hermione. It is so nice to see you.

Hermione gazed at this brain with a hungry expression. The scratchy voice sounded like velvet in her head.

But you seem sad. Why is that?

Hermione’s voice was toneless as she responded. The words didn’t come from her mouth; they travelled straight through her brain.

“I saw my ex-boyfriend today. It always makes me sad to think of him.” Her toneless words didn’t come from her mouth. The sounds transferred from Hermione’s mind, straight out into the unknown.

The brain hummed, and then all the lights in the room vanished.

Hermione floated inside her mind. Her body felt distant and a shadow of what it used to be.

A person stepped out of the depths of her thoughts and stood in front of her. Where their eyes should have been, blue fire engulfed the sockets.

There, this is better.

Hermione stared at the frozen mouth as the being floated in careful circles around her brain.

You have made many mistakes in your life.

She nodded, her tongue too heavy to move.

But I want to help you. You have done so much for me.

Each word pulled life out of her chest, leaving her void of anything. Each sound the spirit made cured deep cravings she didn’t know she had. It kept circling her. Hermione couldn’t do anything but focus on its movements.

Would you like my help?

It was so kind. So comforting. She knew this spirit; she had countless conversations with it. Clover was wise, wise enough to be good to Hermione.

Hermione’s head moved up and down. She couldn’t recall summoning the strength to move it.

I understand. You regret your decision. Everyone regrets it. You wish you could have made a different choice. One with all the knowledge necessary to make it correctly.

“Wait—” Hermione said as she comprehended what the disembodied voice creaked.

No need to worry. I will help you make it right.

“Wait, stop—”

You will choose correctly this time.

“I don’t know what you—.”

I am going to give you another chance.

“Another chance for what?”

The brain responded with a single word. Ron.

Hermione’s heart constricted as she understood what the brain said to her. She didn’t know how to respond to it. Instead, she stood there, frozen in her spot. She desperately wished Arthur would interrupt them and stop what was happening.

She wanted to end this. She opened her mouth to protest or beg for the spirit to quit. No sounds came out of her mouth.

I do not require an answer. I can decide what is best for you. That is all I want for you.

Hermione was suddenly jerked back to the present. The rush from leaving her subconscious had her entire body aching.

Her hand connected to the brain suddenly burned fiery red. The fire pulsed from her fingertips, through her nerves, and into her brain. The infection burrowed deep in her mind, stopping somewhere at the base of her skull. Giving out a loud cry, she forced herself to let go of the brain.

With a loud crack, Hermione catapulted away from it. Her body flew through the air. She was weightless, until she landed, her head thudding against the hard tile on the ground.

“Hermione! Are you okay?” Arthur exclaimed as he knelt next to her. “What happened? What did it do to you?”

Hermione’s hand reached back to touch the wetness on the back of her head. Her fingertips came back bright red.

“Oh,” was all Hermione said, looking at her blood dripping down her fingers. An inappropriate giggle threatened to bubble out of her.

She wanted to tell Arthur not to tell anyone that she got hurt, that it wasn’t the project’s fault, it was that stupid brain’s fault. She opened her mouth to say something, but only unnatural sounds from deep in her throat came out. That was probably a problem.

She reached into her pocket to grab her magical phone. She tapped her wand on the screen and it dialled Draco’s number.

“Calling for me already? I think that must be a record.”

Hermione responded with a series of incoherent vowels and consonants. Her mouth wouldn’t change its shape to form words, no matter how hard she tried.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Draco said, suddenly on alert. She just groaned in response. “Are you alone?”

“No.”

Yes/no responses seemed easier than full sentences. Still, her response was hardly understood, even to herself.

“Give the phone to whoever is with you.”

Hermione felt the phone lift from her fingertips. She could just barely make out Draco’s rushed words to the man standing in front of her. She felt like she should know him. Who was that?

‘Oh’, she reminded herself, ‘it’s Arthur.’

She almost laughed again. How could she ever forget him?

“I need you to take her to St. Mungos right now. I will meet you there,” a voice said through the phone. Whose voice was that? She thought she was just talking to him, but she couldn’t remember his name.

“Put me back on the phone with her.” The same voice demanded. His voice flowed like music. “Hermione, can you hear me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Okay, Arthur is going to get an emergency...”

He sounded like springtime and lavender. The sounds he made were so beautiful, but she had long ago stopped understanding the words.

“You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay,” he repeated.

It was easier for her to understand when she expected what he was going to say.

The last words she heard were, “I love you”.

She tumbled far away from everything. She forgot about pain, about pleasure, about every single thing that should have been remembered.

All she knew was darkness and nothing.

Chapter Text

There was something attractive about remaining in the shadows. Life was simple like this. Hermione didn’t have to worry about anything, not eating, not drinking.

Her broken mind thrust her into a purgatory of awareness and oblivion. Each sensation intoxicated her with its newness, begging her to come closer, before the painful reality of consciousness would bleed into her mind. She’d then thrash away from the hurt.

No matter how hard she squeezed her eyes shut, the light burned. It was a continuous stream of stimulation, and she couldn’t do a single thing about it other than suffer in silence.

There was a battle in her brain. Two forces swam through her neurons, fought with the axons of her mind. A voice inside of her screamed, go, go, go, a disastrous lullaby. The next sound, someone whispering, begging her to wake.

She grasped for something she couldn’t tell was there. Each time her hand reached into the unknown, it came back empty. She couldn’t move, couldn’t open her mouth to speak. Her eyes were coated shut by a glue of weakness.

So, she focused on the little she could manage.

Listen.

She sifted through the noises, searching for the differences between them. Hermione learned to distinguish which sounds came from her mind and which came from outside her body.

Then she could begin predicting what would happen based on the surrounding noises. Loud sounds meant there would be hands all over her body. Painful procedures would happen after a sudden beeping or exclamations from a person.

The soft sounds were harder to learn. She figured out they came from people. She heard words without comprehending them. Something, she didn’t know what, had dropped her into an unknown foreign country without knowing a word of their language.

Hermione didn’t like not knowing things, so she tried even harder. All of her energy went to trying to understand what was going on.

Someone was upset. She thought she heard crying. Why was someone upset?

Something must’ve been wrong. Was it with her?

Words came next, understanding slowly eroding the bitter edge of her unconsciousness. It began with the pleas she heard. There were unfamiliar prayers to each and every God.

Strange, Hermione couldn’t remember being religious.

Small, constantly repeated phrases soon generalised. Her brain then latched onto conversations. She listened closely to every one of them. Hungry for any words she could decode.

“Please wake up. Please—fuck—please wake up.”

That voice was familiar. She thought she heard that one most often. It originated from a spot near her ear. The breath from the words tickled her neck.

The familiar voice was there often, but there were others speaking wishes in soft, pleasing sounds. Each one felt distant, uncertain.

“Let me sit with her.”

“Maybe you should go home and get some sleep.”

“Go home. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

All their desires would be silenced by a firm, “No.”

Healers were easier to distinguish between. At their entrance, conversations would halt, voices would quiet. Calm footsteps would appear, give soft-spoken updates, and then Hermione would feel bursts of pain.

She tried to brace herself for it, but it was impossible to prepare for the aching torture they put her through when she didn’t have any control of her body.

Unwelcome invasions of someone else’s magic were uncomfortable on good days. Each spell they used made herself scream. She’d try to pull her mind away from the pain, but each additional spell forced its way into her psyche and made her take part in her own abuse.

She heard whimpers, sobs, and moans during her torture. Again and again. She wished this person would shut up. Every sound made her head feel like it was splitting apart. The pain collated in her neck and chest and throbbed repeatedly.

It took Hermione a long time to realise she was the one making noise.

They were officially finished with her when she heard, “There’s no change, Mr Malfoy. We’ll let you know if anything happens.”

She’d then feel cool hands on her forehead, brushing back her hair, rubbing at her temples. The familiar voice would resume its chant by her ear.

“Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.”

The mantra, originally endearing, wore thin quickly.

Obviously, she wanted to wake up. No one wished to remain in a comatose nightmare.

When her annoyance reached its boiling point, she finally summoned the effort necessary to open her eyes.

She couldn’t focus. Everything felt unknown. She saw things. There were things in front of her. But what were they?

Nothing made sense.

Someone was staring down at her, but she couldn’t focus her gaze enough. She thought it was a man.

She saw him in separate parts. His face was sliced into puzzle pieces. Instead of a whole being, she saw a jaw hanging, a pair of wide eyes, and a trembling mouth.

“Can you hear me?”

Desperation. Fear. Terror. It was all too much to take in.

A cool hand grabbed her wrist. The touch radiated across her skin like she had dipped it in a bucket of ice water. Pain flashed up her arms and down her legs.

She wished she had the words to beg him to let go. She wanted to plead with him to not torture her any longer.

Her mouth opened, a deep, guttural moan leaving her. The man’s hand yanked itself away from her body immediately. Loud beeps sounded around them.

Suddenly, and with no preamble, different hands groped her body.

Spells flew around her, into her. Hands hovered over her and weaved magic into her skull.

“Ms Granger, if you can hear me, please try to stay calm. Take deep breaths. We are going to put you back under.”

Her confusion was soon washed away. Her ability to focus was gone, but she didn’t care. She was floating through the ocean of unconsciousness.

The air surrounding her was a gentle breeze.

The ocean spray kissed her skin.

The waves cradled her head and rocked her back and forth. Again and again. She noticed nothing. She let the tides take her in and out from the shore.

Her body was buoyant in the water of her inner thoughts and dreams. It lifted her body up. The sun bathed her in its gentle glow.

She looked over to find Ron next to her. His fingertips reached out to graze her skin. He was sunbathing. She almost turned to him and laughed at how foolish he was. He couldn’t tan, no matter how much he wanted to.

But the water turned choppy. The sky darkened. Everything around the two of them became stormy.

But then the storm left her, only smooth waters surrounded her. Her eyes fluttered open, and then there was an overabundance of stimuli, but it didn’t overwhelm her like it did previously.

“Hermione, are you awake?” A voice asked. “Can you hear me?”

She tried to manage a nod, but her neck was too weak to move.

“Yes.” She swallowed, trying to eliminate the scratchy rasp in her throat, but it hurt too much to do so.

“Oh, thank Merlin.” He laughed. His eyes were full of tears.

She tried to look closer at him, her mind slowly putting together who he was. She stared at his face, her vision becoming less blurred with each blink. 

Is he—

He couldn’t be—

She was still dreaming. Or she was going crazy. Or she was already crazy.

“Oh, Merlin, I love you so much. Never do that to me again? Just—let me go get your healer. You better be awake and healthy when I get back, okay?”

He kissed her, a wet smack on her forehead, and left the room in a sprint. His surprised laughter faded as he ran further from her.

Her subconscious, in all its unknowing wisdom, must have decided that Malfoy kissing her at her bedside was an appropriate hallucination to give.

Her mind wouldn’t be that creative. She hadn’t spoken to him in over two years. He must have been someone else. Maybe Malfoy looked similar to her healer, and she had made a mistake.

Only... healers didn’t usually kiss their patients.

She grasped at the memory of the man’s voice. It was familiar, painfully so. She knew it from somewhere, but she couldn’t quite place it. The timbre of his baritone played as an echo of a melody beneath white noise. Just present enough to notice, but not loud enough to be able to discern well enough.

Providing a brief reprieve from her confusion, a woman with a severe bun and grey hair walked into the room straight backed and confidently.

“Hello, Ms Granger, I’m happy to see you’re back in the land of the living. You were out for a few weeks.” Hermione cracked a small smile at the joke, her panic palpable in her chest. “My name is Healer Morgan. Are you in any pain?”

Hermione considered the question. Her head throbbed, her stomach turned, and her limbs burned.

She shook her head anyway. There were far more important things to focus on. She wanted answers, not distractions from the truth.

“Wonderful. Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions to make sure everything’s working okay with your brain. Some might be very easy, others may be more difficult. Okay?”

She felt an urge to roll her eyes, but nodded anyway. Her brain had always been the thing she could count on the most. It seemed strange that it was being questioned.

It started with something simple. Repeating three words. Sock. Blue. Bed. Idiotic if you asked her. Obviously, she could do something that simple.

Then, her healer said, “Please tell me what year it is.”

“Um... ‘99”

Hermione, already hyper-analysing the movement of her healer’s face, noticed the slight raise of an eyebrow, an interested nod. It was a careful, controlled expression, but Hermione already felt her heart racing.

“What about the month?”

Her eyes widened when an answer didn’t immediately come to her. “I-I think it’s June?” It was a wild guess, one she wasn’t sure was accurate based on how warmly not-Malfoy had been dressed only moments prior.

“What day of the week is it?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione looked inwards, trying to search her memory, but she couldn’t figure it out. “What’s wrong with me?”

“There’s no reason to be concerned yet. You’ve just woken up again after some long-term medical sedation, and you’re likely a confused and drowsy. No need to panic.

“How long was I under anaesthesia for?” 

“4 weeks. Your brain had some swelling that we wanted to make sure we got under control.”

Morgan had a smile on her face, but it looked plastered there. Earlier her expression had looked calm, serene. It soothed fears and caused comfort; this smile turned stomachs.

She took another step closer and cast diagnostic spells. Each second she continued to stare at the scans of Hermione’s brain was another moment of Hermione’s chest aching from holding her breath.

“One moment please, I want to check something,” the healer muttered mostly to herself and left the room.

Hermione took a piece of thread from her hospital blankets and twisted it in her fingers. Her ears strained to try to hear the conversation outside, but she was unable to listen. 

Morgan walked back in minutes later, the soft smile still on her face. “I’m going to bring someone in here, and I want you to tell me who he is.”

She braced herself for who she was going to see next.

She then determined that it was Morgan’s idea to experiment with just how big Hermione’s eyes could grow before they physically popped out of their sockets. Why else would she have Draco bloody Malfoy come into the hospital room?

So, she hadn’t hallucinated earlier. She didn’t know if that was more or less comforting. She glanced from side to side in search of her wand. Just in case.

Malfoy hovered near the door frame. She inspected him, something she hadn’t done since they were still at Hogwarts.

He looked...

Bad.

A smile was on his face, a natural expression slowly fading into a forced one. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years, with purple circles underneath his eyes and gaunt cheekbones. His greasy blond hair stuck up at odd angles.

“Do you know who this man is?” Morgan asked. Hermione nodded, her eyes flashing back and forth between the two people in front of her. “Can you tell me his name?”

“He’s Draco Malfoy, we—erm, went to school together,” Hermione said, still not taking her eyes off of Malfoy for fear he might attack.

A slight tremor ran through his body. His fists clenched at his side.

She hadn’t seen him in months. Not since his trials. Not since Harry and Hermione spoke up for him at his trials to keep him out of Azkaban. He had looked just as exhausted back then.

“Well... yes, that technically is true. Is there anything else you can tell me about him? I want you to think very hard.” 

Hermione’s gaze jumped from Malfoy’s trembling hands to his face. At her hesitation, his smile dropped, leaving intense eyes watching her with an otherwise expressionless face.

“He was—I guess he was a death eater.”

His composure dropped for a moment, a second. Just long enough for her to see the heartbreak behind his eyes before he smothered it.

The healer shared a glance with Malfoy. An entire conversation was held in front of her, and she had to watch them with a grimace.

“That is technically correct, but he is also your boyfriend.”

Despite the considerable effort that Morgan was going through to keep her calm, Hermione’s spluttering had already begun.

“What—I mean—absolutely not. This must be some kind of sick joke—I would never—I’m with—where did you even come up with—No. No.”

Every sentence she failed to finish looked a carefully crafted curse right into Malfoy’s chest. Once she ran out of denials, his face finally became completely vacant. His eyes locked onto nothing, and each breath looked like it took an enormous amount of effort.

“Hermione we’re—” Malfoy started speaking, but Morgan quickly interrupted him.

“Mr Malfoy, I want you to stay calm. It’s likely she’s feeling some left-over grogginess from her medications.”

“I am not dating him. I would never be in a relationship with Malfoy.”

He nodded to himself, his eyes looking at her like she was a living nightmare. Something too raw to completely come to terms with.

“Mr Malfoy, could you give us some space and exit the room? I think Ms Granger would benefit from some more individual explanation.”

Malfoy stood still as a statue until she snapped at him to leave.

He walked away, pausing briefly in the doorway, putting a hand on the wall. He breathed heavily before he stalked out of the room.

“Hermione, you’ve woken up from a magically induced coma. You were in an accident, and a combination of physical trauma and an unfamiliar magical signature required us to put you under a stasis charm while your brain healed.”

“How long have I been under?”

“Almost two months.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at the thought of losing that much time. There were things she had to do at work.

“I want you to stay as calm as possible while I explain this to you. Do you understand?”

Hermione nodded.

“The year is not 1999. It is 2009. You seem to have forgotten the last 10 years. During that time, you and Mr Malfoy began a relationship together. You live with him.”

“But—No. I’m not sure how much he paid you to play this joke, but it’s not funny. I want Ron. Ron Weasley. Please ask him to come here. He’ll clear all of this up,” Hermione demanded.

Healer Morgan looked at her for a moment, and Hermione wasn’t sure if she liked the sympathy shining through the woman’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Ms Granger. No one paid anyone anything to play a prank. I wish it were that simple.”

With a complicated swish of her wand, Morgan pulled up a brain scan. At first glance, there appeared to be nothing wrong with it. Then she cut the scan in half. The entire inside of her brain blinked a bright red colour.

Hermione stared at it for many moments, as the healer explained how parts of the brain handled certain functions. That memory loss was not unusual for an injury like hers.

She took a long breath before she resorted to begging.

“Just get Ron to come here. He should be my emergency contact.”

Morgan summoned a clipboard with documents on it. She shook her head. “You changed it 6 months ago. I can contact him if you insist, but I believe—”

“Ask him to come now,” Hermione said in a severe tone.

“He can come tomorrow. Visiting hours are almost over. Do you have any more questions for me?”

Hermione shook her head, and Morgan left the room with a solemn look on her face.

Hermione scrambled to make sense of everything that had happened. Everything around her was unknown. Each unfamiliar depth she travelled was too hard to comprehend.

She thought of the things she couldn’t remember and the things she was supposed to know. She repeated it all until the blood pounding in her ears quieted her thoughts. She dug her fingertips into her palms to try to win back some control in the form of crescent indentations in her skin.

It was unsuccessful.

She had to leave. She wanted to get out of the hospital. She needed to wake up.

Unable to take it anymore, she threw off her blankets, ignored her dizziness, and raced to the bathroom in her room. It was the nearest to sanctuary she could find. When the water she splashed in her face didn’t wake her up, she looked at herself in the mirror.

Shaking fingers reached up to touch the person she saw. She was older. Her hair was longer, more manageable. The skin previously covered in blemishes that mortified her as a teenager was clear apart from the beginning of aged lines showing on her face. Her hips were fuller.

Hermione was not the same girl who survived on foraged foods while on the run. She was no longer the person who helped save the Wizarding World.

“Oh, my—” her reflection said, the words barely above a whisper.

She was shocked into silence by the reflection speaking back at her.

This is okay. This will all be okay. You will see Ron tomorrow and it will be okay. Her slithering thoughts attempted to comfort her, but did little.

Hermione was a girl—no, she was a woman, who relied on facts. She depended on evidence to form her decisions and reactions. But that night, she refused to listen to the overwhelming facts pointing to a truth she wasn’t prepared to believe.

If she allowed herself to believe that so much time had passed without her realising, it meant many other things she’d been told were true.

The thought had her spiralling in a cycle of too hot and too cold. Her blood was ice, frozen. Her body was a fire, spreading rapidly. Its fuel was her panic, and it fed on her misfortunes.

Her thoughts ran wild, finely tuned daggers as she threw back at her chest repeatedly. Tears rushed down her face while she struggled to rectify the impossible with the proof that had stared back at her in the mirror.

She soaked herself in the misery that bathed her entire body. It was refreshing almost to let it all out. Each sob she heaved felt like a step closer to feeling better, yet still, when she lifted herself off the ground, she didn’t feel like she had accomplished anything substantial with her grief.

While she staggered back to her bed, content to leave her hysterics in the bathroom away from other people, she paused at the window looking out into the hallway. There, she saw Malfoy.

He slept on a chair right outside the room. His neck was crooked, bent at a strange angle. His eyebrows were furrowed. His arms pulled tightly across his chest.

His face held none of the serenity that usually accompanied sleep. He looked moments from waking.

She gaped at him, her mind bursting with questions she didn’t know how to ask. How could she be with someone so... bad?

How did foul, loathsome, evil turn into love?

Her mind, always determined to play devil’s advocate, argued with her. Her sharp thoughts stabbed.

You thought he changed. Why would you try to keep a man you claim is evil out of Azkaban? Why would you be with him if you didn’t believe in him?

She ignored herself and crawled back into her bed. She closed her eyes and feigned sleep when she heard footsteps.

“How is she?” Malfoy whispered.

A male healer spoke back to him.

“Mr Malfoy, as we’ve discussed, Ms Granger has magical amnesia. It seems she cannot recall certain memories prior to her traumatic brain injury. We suspect, and are having unspeakables investigate further, that her involvement in the department of mysteries triggered some magical change in her brain. We don’t know how long it will last.”

“How are you going to treat her?”

“According to Healer Morgan, the best course of treatment includes slowly reintroducing her to information she doesn’t remember. Her brain is very fragile.”

“What does that mean?”

The healer coughed to himself, and Hermione heard the sound of him flipping through his notes. “It means we must be cautious. If you jump and introduce her too quickly to any memories, the magical signature could overwhelm her. There is a block preventing us from retrieving her memories through magical means, and she can’t seem to access them through metacognitive strategies. So pensieves won’t work either.”

“Are you saying that I need to pretend we aren’t in a relationship?” Draco demanded, as close to yelling as he could while maintaining his whisper.

“No sir. I’m saying you need to wait until she’s stronger to talk about your past together. There’s a chance the memories will come back on their own. If you overwhelm her, it could cause permanent damage to the pathways in her brain.” The healer paused for a moment. “I will discuss her case in the morning with Healer Morgan, and her entire team will determine the best course of treatment.”

“And in the meantime?”

“Give her some space. She must be extremely overwhelmed.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy spit venom." “Thank you for giving me permission—no, encouraging me—to let my girlfriend pretend she’s still in a relationship with her ex-boyfriend.”

“Mr Malfoy—”

“Unless you have anything to say about her care, I am finished speaking to you,” he said, each word precise.

Hermione scoffed internally at his insolent behaviour. Typical Malfoy.

Once enough time had passed, Hermione opened an eye to make sure she was alone. She looked up and saw him standing in her doorway. He leaned against the wall, the only thing Hermione imagined, keeping him from falling to the ground.

He gasped for air, his chest heaving.

She barely heard his whispered speech. “Oh fuck. Fuck. fuck. Oh god—I, oh fuck.”

Was he?

He was crying.

His demeanour mirrored Hermione’s from moments prior. She compared their two breakdowns.

Hers was an explosion of emotion. There was too much in her to keep contained, and she didn’t want to do so any longer. His distress was consumed with containing the emotion. His hands covered his face, preventing her from seeing proof of tears. He took gulps of air, trying to bring back composure. He whispered his disbelieving statements, hiding proof of his turmoil from Hermione.

She wanted to let go and be free of her emotions, and he wanted to hide them away.

She tried to shake off the pang of sympathy she felt for him, and eventually his hands dropped from his face, dangling down by his side.

For one awful moment, they stared at each other. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, hers terrified and frightened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, backing out of the room quickly. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.”

She closed her eyes tightly and tried to ignore what she’d just seen. Hermione prayed sleep would come to her soon.

That night, she dreamt of blond bullies, failed relationships, and the 90s.

Chapter Text

The sunlight had barely begun to stream into her hospital room when she heard distant yelling. 

The voice, angry and annoyed as it was, provided an instant comfort. It was a balm of familiarity covering her anxieties. 

Ron. It was Ron. Everything would be fine. Ron was there. 

“What did you do to her?” he asked. 

“That’s rich. You think I did something to her?” Malfoy said. “Grow up.” 

It was an odd juxtaposition between their tones. Ron’s was loud, aggressive, fiery. Malfoy’s was calm, collected, icy. 

“Don’t act daft. You’ve been with her for what, five months? Suddenly she’s in the hospital.” 

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t been counting the seconds since she left you and broke your poor little heart.” 

“Fuck you, Malfoy.” 

Their voices were getting louder, closer. Hermione shifted in bed, trying to strain her neck to see Ron outside her room. 

She caught a flash of red outside her door. He was there. He was close.

Malfoy was between them, and she saw his pale hand holding Ron back in the doorway.  

“Listen Weasley, you can’t go in there acting angry like this. She doesn’t need any more stress. If you don’t calm down, you will not see her.” 

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do.” 

“Too late.” 

“You have no right—”

Malfoy laughed bitterly. He seemed to have kept his touch for the dramatics.

“Actually, last I checked, I do have a right. I earned it when she picked me over your sorry arse. You lost that privilege when you—”

“If you don’t shut up, I swear... what happened is between me and—”

“And who? Your ex-girlfriend? The one you haven’t spoken to in months? That person?” 

Ron’s fingers twitched towards the wand he stored in the front pocket of his trousers. 

“What happened between Hermione and me... well, it’s mostly your fault— And it’s not— You can’t— It’s none of your—” Ron gestured wildly, searching for the words he couldn’t say fluently enough. 

“I just—but I—” Malfoy mocked in a high-pitched voice. “Use your words, Weasley. I’m sure even you are capable of stringing together a coherent sentence.” 

“I don’t have to explain myself to a bloody death eater. Especially not when that death eater is you.” 

This was becoming too much. Hermione needed to intervene between the men grandstanding in front of her. She didn’t know the best way to interrupt them, and Malfoy capitalised on her silence. 

“You want to know the difference between you and me, Weasley? I changed. I learned from my mistakes and grew up. You can’t say that. You’ve been stuck in the same rut for years. It’s why she left you for a better man.” 

Red flooded Ron’s face, pooling in his cheeks and rushing to the tips of his ear. With that expression, one she only saw when Ron was about to do something extremely idiotic, she finally gained the courage to intervene. 

“Malfoy, stop it. Leave him alone.” 

He didn’t respond; he didn’t even look at her. Malfoy walked away, moving his body just enough for Ron to find the space to enter her room. Their shoulders slammed against each other. 

“Merlin, Hermione, are you okay?” 

No. 

She wasn’t. 

Obviously, she wasn’t okay. How could she be? 

She bit her tongue, afraid she would burst with everything if she tried to explain what she felt. 

“I’ve been better.” 

Her eyes took in Ron with a hunger that surprised her. She’d known him most of her life. She’d seen his face even more than she’d seen her own. Every difference she found between the two versions of them felt enormous. 

Instead of the shaggy hair she was used to, he had a short buzz. His chest and shoulders had filled out. He was bigger, almost larger than life. The differences between him and the memory version she had were enormous. 

Like Malfoy, he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. 

Ron grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and moved it so he could sit at her bedside. He reached forward to grab her hand despite her small wince. 

“Oh, ‘Mione, I’ve missed you so much. I’m glad you asked to see me.” His fingers carefully stroked her knuckles. “So... what happened?” 

Hermione bit her lip, thinking of all the blank spots she couldn’t pull memories out of. “I don’t know. I woke up. Ron, they’re saying that I don’t remember the last ten years and I don’t—what happened?”

“What exactly do you remember?” 

“It felt like we were celebrating Ginny’s engagement,” she said, her brow wrinkled in confusion. 

He interrupted in a harsh voice that he smothered with laughter. “Oh yes, I remember that. You had that dress Mum forced you into, and you said—”

“It made me look like a Hufflepuff with all the ruffles and frill. I remember that, but I don’t remember—”

“This is—Hermione, we can make this work between us again. You can come back with me, and well, I guess you wouldn’t know this, but I’m living with Harry and Ginny. I’ve been helping with the baby, although I guess he’s not a baby anymore.”

Her eyes widened. 

“Oh, I guess you wouldn’t know about him. James was born a few years ago. He’s three now. Crazy kid. You were his godmother, actually. Ginny is so worried about you, Harry, too. They both want to see you as soon as they can.” 

Ron rambled like he was on a time limit. His words smashed into each other on their way out. She struggled to grasp what he was telling her, but every word he let loose collided into her and sent her spiralling. 

She looked over and saw Malfoy at the window, frozen. He stared at the hand she had intertwined with Ron’s. His body was taut, expression void of anything. 

“Well, you know George asked me to join him running the shop, but the Potters need me. I like feeling useful.” 

She untangled her fingers from his grasp. 

“Ron.” 

“Charlie’s been doing great with his dragon habitat. His breeding program has really helped. Oh, and Dad, well, obviously you know how he’s been. And Percy—”

“Ron!” she exclaimed. “As much as I love hearing about your family, I need you to explain why we haven’t spoken in months. The last I remember we were happy and in love and now?” 

“Well...” Ron, for the first time that day, had lost his words in his throat. The rush to finish speaking had gone. “Well, we had a bit of a falling out.” 

Out of the corner of the eye, she watched Malfoy give a bitter laugh. He pushed himself away from the window and stalked out of view. 

“And why did we have a ‘falling out?’”

He shifted in his seat. He looked around the room and noted the various paintings on the wall and the tile beneath his feet. 

“Well, lots of reasons, really. It’s hard to explain. We disagreed about some stupid things. But listen, that’s not important. This is. This is our chance. We can have a do-over. Give us another chance to do things right. Hermione, I missed you so much. You don’t have to stay with him.” 

He talked about Malfoy the same way a parent would refer to an ill-mannered teenager’s unfortunate piercing. As if he was a mistake that Hermione made, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Malfoy wasn’t even a permanent fixture in her life.

Hermione let out a shaky breath. All this time she had been hoping that Ron would deny the fact that she had chosen, seemingly willingly, to be with a man she once disagreed with on virtually every level.

But she had chosen him in the last 10 years. How much merit were decisions she couldn’t remember making?

“Right now the only thing I know is that you’re lying to me.” Hermione blinked back the emotions that were threatening to fall. He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away from him. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“Hermione, it’s going to be okay. Don’t cry,” Ron said. “Think of this like the opportunity it is. Fate is telling you that you need a do-over.”

“I think—” Hermione started, then paused. “I think I need to be alone with my thoughts.

“Okay,” Ron stood, dusting off invisible dirt from his pants, “but don’t take too long. Let me know whenever you want me again.”

Right as he left, she felt her headache pulse in her head. It was sharp. Too sharp to let her focus on the deluge of information he’d given her. 

It was like someone kicked her in the chest, hard. She closed her eyes and tried to take a pickaxe to the wall that had been built in caverns of her mind, closing her off to the things that were important.

She thought about Ron. A lot. Arguably too much. 

She tried to glue back what her accident had shattered. Each time she tried to focus on it too much, it was like a voice in her head screamed at her to drop the pieces.

She didn’t want to think of anything else. She wanted to figure everything out.

Eventually, the familiar face of Healer Morgan came and asked her some basic questions to determine that, yes, her memory was still ruined.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Slow,” Hermione said, tilting her head back and forth, letting the vertigo of her injury make her lose her balance. “It’s like...I’m walking through water. Time is too long. Too short. Nothing makes sense.” 

Morgan nodded. “That’s likely a side-effect form the stasis spell; that should fade in a few days.” She pulled up an additional brain scan and studied it for a few moments. “I want you to stay another two nights for further observation. Your team and I will work on developing a treatment plan that works for your when you go home.”

She didn’t even know where home was. Was it by herself, with Malfoy? She shuddered to think about that. Living with… him. That didn’t seem right.

She was probably worried about it for nothing. She’d only been dating him for, what, only a few months? That was hardly enough time to know somebody and move in with them. She probably had her own flat somewhere and she could figure out what to do next in peace.

That thought comforted her.

“Do you have any questions for me before I leave?” Morgan asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“I have a thousand questions.” Hermione laughed humourlessly. “I don’t think you could answer any of them, though.” 

“I believe that would be correct. I can’t imagine how frustrating that would be.” Morgan gave her a sympathetic smile.

Hermione sighed, rolling onto her side away from the door that Morgan walked out of. 

A soft voice in the room's corner punctured the silence she’d grown accustomed to. 

“You can ask me anything you’d like. I’m fairly good at answering questions.” 

Malfoy stood in the corner of the room, shoulders hunched, trying to take up as little space as possible. 

“We’ve been dating for — well, just a few months. Seven months, 2 weeks, and, erm, 2 days, to be exact. But, we’ve been friends for years. I’m pretty sure I know everything about you, or at least all the important bits.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to tell a joke, but lacked the knowledge or energy to come up with a proper punchline. 

“Malfoy—” she started and paused as the grimace flashed over his face. “It’s not that—well, I mean, when I—”

“You don’t trust me,” he finished for her.

“Exactly.”

She watched his eyes search her face. They were the only thing that portrayed the smallest ounce of emotion, but they were written in a language she wasn’t fluent in.

“Quiz me.”

“Quiz you?”

“Let me prove I know you. That you trusted me at one point. Ask me something that only you could have told me. Anything.” 

She squirmed in bed with the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t see how this will help.”

“Yes, you do.” He was right. It was a good idea. “Ask me.” 

“Okay, fine. Um… What’s the name of my cat?”

“Crookshanks. I knew that before we left school. You used to screech his name all around Hogwarts. Ask me something else.”

“Okay, who’d I blackmail because they were an unregistered Animagus?”

“Rita Skeeter, she was a beetle.” He took a tentative step towards her. “Another one.”

They went back and forth like that. He guessed her favourite soup, “split pea”, or her favourite drink “moscow mule with three lime slices.” He knew her favourite subject in primary school, “all of them, but maths was the most fun.” He knew her most embarrassing story, “cat hair in a polyjuice potion is not a good idea.”

He could even recall the story of the first time she performed magic. “You didn’t want to do the dishes, so you turned them all into woodland creatures.”

She laughed a sharp, sudden sound. 

“This is all so ridiculous! I think I’m losing my mind, because Draco Malfoy apparently knows all about my muggle childhood and is okay with it?” 

Their conversation headed towards a precarious location, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for the discussion Malfoy seemed to formulate in his head. He spoke carefully, cautiously.

“You being a muggle-born isn’t that surprising to me. It obviously wasn’t a deal breaker.”

“I don’t know how to rectify the Malfoy I hated at Hogwarts and the...the person standing in front of me. I can’t believe that you’re not going to do something awful to me, just because you want to.”

“I’d like to think I’m a better man now. A big part because of you, but also because of me.” 

“When did you change?” 

“After the war. I-I had to confront a lot of parts about myself. I realised I was the bad guy in everyone’s story, and I wanted differently for myself, for the legacy I was leaving. So, I fixed it.”

“Hermione, I—” The first sliver of emotion crept into his voice, but he shut it off with a short, sharp shake of his head. “I was raised to think—well, honestly, I was a dick. Big, giant dick and arsehole. I said things to you that I never should have believed. I echoed and invented cruel things to say to you and people like you. And I’m so incredibly sorry. I would apologise to you every day if you’d let me.”

She was silent. There was so much she wanted to say, but nothing that would make sense. Forgiveness didn’t just require an apology to become legitimate. It needed evidence of a commitment to improve. She needed to see substantial change. 

He let her worry on her lip for a moment longer, then he spoke up.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. You took a long time the first time. I suppose all I’m asking is for you to give me a chance to earn that trust back.”

With only a slight hesitation, she nodded. It wasn’t an outrageous request.

“Would you like me to go wait outside?” he asked once the silence had become too stifling.

“You don’t have to stay here. I’m sure nothing will change that much while you’re gone.”

That must have been an unthinkable suggestion based on the look he gave her. “I’m not about to leave you alone in the hospital.”

“You just... look like you haven’t left here in a few weeks.” There was no nice way to tell him he looked like hell. 

“I haven’t. Theo’s been bringing me clean clothes, and I’ve been using bathing charms.” 

“That’s insane. I wasn’t even conscious for most of the time you were here,” Hermione said.

“You weren’t... stable most of the time you were unconscious.” He spoke slowly, pausing between most words. “I was afraid that you’d d— that something would happen and I wouldn’t have been there for you.” 

“Obviously, I’m stable enough now to not need constant surveillance. I think you can afford a break.” 

“Now I’m afraid you’re going to flee without saying anything to me.” He continued calmly, barging through his brief vulnerability completely. “Look, I’m not going anywhere. So the question is, do you want me to stay with you here, or would you prefer me to sit outside?” 

“I think I’d like to be alone.” 

He sighed, gave a curt nod, and left the room. 

That night, she dreamt of a beautiful woman. 

Her voice was angelic, a soft song that floated down to her. It was intoxicating, addicting. Hermione knew she wasn’t worthy of listening to it. Yet, she couldn’t stop herself from leaning in and focusing on it. 

“I have a present for you,” it said, soft in its simplicity. Elegant in its excellence. 

Hermione was giddy in anticipation of what this being could give her. She was beautiful, kind. Hermione would do anything to please it. 

The alluring woman, dressed in flames, covered in stars, smiled at her. Then, she left. 

Hermione looked around. There were no windows, no doors. How could she leave?

She turned around to find the woman, now holding onto a man.

Ron. It was Ron. She liked him. She loved him.

He drooled over her, his eyes never leaving, never going away. He looked desperate. He reached out to grab a hold of her. With the intensity of his grasp, she would have assumed it would hurt. But it didn’t. Nothing hurt her with Ron. Everything felt good.

“Hermione. I love you. You are the most important person in my life. You are mine. I am yours. We are one.”

She nodded, her hands already reaching out to him. He needed her. She would be there if she needed him. He was a present, and she was lucky to be chosen to deserve this luxurious gift.

She greedily ran towards Ron.

“Hermione, wait—” A desperate voice sounded behind her. It felt like broken glass in her skin. “It was a mistake, but I did it for you.” 

She turned to see Malfoy reaching for her. He was too far to touch. His wretched face haunted her, before it blurred out of view. 

The beautiful woman stepped closer. Her hand drifted to Hermione’s head, and with a pleasurable push, she walked towards Ron. 

She ignored the calls from Malfoy and walked towards her destiny. 

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for Hermione to grow sick of the four walls that became a prison around her. Boredom quickly became her only enemy.

Her healers had put her on ‘cognitive rest.’ 

A course of treatment which, and Hermione didn’t put this lightly, was one of the worst things that had ever happened to her. She wasn’t supposed to do anything that someone could consider ‘mentally taxing.’ She couldn’t read, couldn’t write, couldn’t do puzzles or anything she might be remotely interested in. Her hospital didn’t even have a muggle television she could watch to turn her mind off. 

Hell, she couldn’t even read the informational pamphlets her healer had given her. Instead, they sat in Malfoy’s lap, who sat silently outside her room. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, searching desperately for her forgotten memories. It was like taking a battering ram to the closed off parts of her brain. She shoved her way through the locked doors and burnt down bridges that connected her neurons to each other. Her temples throbbed, but she couldn’t make herself quit. 

Visions of laughter and tears and expectations swirled in her brain. If she looked for too long, she would become disoriented by the smoky haze clouding her mind. She could smell the potion fumes, touch the tactile echoes of long past experiences. It hurt, physically and emotionally, for everything to seem so close yet so far away.

When her mind gave out and forced her to take breaks, she’d stare at the ceiling, desperate for a breakthrough.

Malfoy wasn’t far from her. He sat in a chair facing her door with a bouncing knee. Other times, usually when she pretended to be asleep, he stood at the window to watch her. When she’d open her eyes, he’d quickly rush back to his seat to sit in stoic silence.

Because she was bored. Because she needed something to occupy herself. Because he was the only one there that knew what had happened in the time she was missing.

Those were the arguments she formed in her head while she hesitated.

“Malfoy, can you come in here?”

He was at her door immediately.

“Are you okay?” His tone had jumped immediately to panic and dread.

“As okay as I can be. I’ve been thinking, or trying to, and I’ve been having... trouble... with everything.”

“I’m great at handling trouble.” He took a seat in the empty chair next to her bed.

“Is that a special skill set of yours?”

“Only with you. Years of practice have helped me become a master of handling Hermione Granger trouble.”

“Could I... ask you some questions?”

“Of course.”

“Just—go slow. Too much information at once hurts.” Hermione paused, thinking of what she wanted to ask first. Something neutral. “The last I remember, I worked a temp job under Minister Shacklebolt. I wasn’t sure what department I wanted to work in. What did I end up doing?”

“You do a bit of everything. The Minister didn’t want you to leave the government, so he gives you a lot of free rein over everything you choose to do.”

He reached into his pocket to grab a phone. Draco Malfoy with a muggle phone. It was a sight she had never expected to see.

“This is probably your most famous invention. It took a few months of breaking phones to get all the charms to stick. I’m still not 100% sure how you’ve managed it.”

Her mouth fell open as she watched him tap his wand on the phone. The bright light illuminated the room. She reached for it before she could stop herself.

Realising it was rude to yank someone’s phone away from them without permission, she dropped her hand. She mumbled an apology.

“Take it. I’ve got nothing to hide from you. Besides, you’re pretty much the only person I use the thing with. I uh—” He rubbed his neck and grinned sheepishly at her. “I can barely figure out how to work the thing, so I don’t use it often. Usually I look at whatever you send me.”

She turned the phone over, staring at what she had created. It looked different than what she was used to.

“I think you called this thing a blackberry?” Malfoy said, his brow furrowing. “Or was it a blueberry? It gets confusing when Muggles insist on naming all their things after food.”

“How does it work?”

“That’s actually where I came in. We, Theodore Nott and I, assisted you. Us three found a way to make the patronus charm work with the phone. Honestly, it was a combination of potions, charmwork, and a little bit of luck.”

She blinked. “We worked together?”

“Work. Present tense. That’s actually how we got to know each other. Theo and I consult often with the Ministry, with you, and — well, we clicked.”

She was silent, looking at the invention she couldn’t remember creating. She’d always thought there was a market for combining muggle technology and wizarding. It was astounding to learn she had managed to do it.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s not every day you get to be impressed by something you don’t remember doing.”

“You’re an impressive person.”

They both quieted. The heavy air pushed against the fragile ceasefire they’d drafted together.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Any other questions?”

“Maybe we should quit before it’s too much.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, slightly overwhelmed, but fine.” He walked to the door, but she felt like to she had to say something more. “Thank you for telling me all that.”

He nodded. “I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

She watched him leave. Days ago, the thought of asking Draco Malfoy for anything seemed silly. But now, at the very least, she knew he was a convenient question-answerer.

A few hours later, a man, Healer Richard, came in with a clipboard and a folder filled with paperwork.

“List of instructions,” he said. Malfoy followed closely at his heels.

“No bright lights. No activities that can strain your eyes. No work until we clear you after a follow-up visit with your primary care physician. No reading. No—”

“Excuse me, I don’t think that will work,” Hermione interrupted. She already formed argument on how barbaric that treatment was. 

“You’re to remain on cognitive rest until after we determine that the magical signature we detect in your brain won’t have any adverse effects on your health and safety.”

“I can’t go weeks without reading. I’ll go crazy.”

“This is our suggested plan of treatment. If you’re willing to be noncompliant with medical advice, there’s nothing I can do to stop you.” 

Richard shrugged. Hermione thought his name was apt. The man really was a dick. 

 “As far as your memories goes, we want everyone to reintroduce memories to you slowly so you don’t overwhelm yourself, but it’s up to your jurisdiction over what you think you’re ready for. You’re welcome to ask others to explain your past to them. However, you should note if/when you get headaches. At that point, it is time to take a break. No undue strain to your cognitive resources.”

“Lastly,” the small man’s eyes darted away from Hermione to Malfoy, who stood against the doorframe writing notes in a small notebook, “no sex. Of any kind. With anybody.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She risked a glance at Malfoy, who showed no outward sign of discomfort.

Then, Hermione realised he probably wasn’t embarrassed. They were in a... committed relationship. He wouldn’t giggle like a first year at the first mention of something sexual.

“We can discuss during follow-up visits when you can resume those activities. It all depends on your healing, of course. I don’t have an exact timeline. Magical brain injuries aren’t one to scoff at. Intercourse, especially when it is rigorous, causes an increase in heart rate which leads to—”

“Okay!” she exclaimed, wishing she could crawl under a rock and disappear for years. “I understand. No, erm sex. Got it. I’ll just... wait until the follow-up visits to see when—I mean, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that soon. It’s not that I don’t want—”

She stopped speaking. Her eyes settled on the hands clenched in her lap.

“Well, if neither of you have any questions… I’ll leave you two alone.”

She couldn’t tell if she was more or less comfortable being alone with Malfoy. He was probably the only person who could understand, even remotely, how uncomfortable she felt.

She risked a glance at him, made mortifying eye contact, and then looked back down at her hands.

Worse. So much worse. Being alone with Malfoy was so much worse.

When you can resume those activities.

Resume.

As in, there had once been a time when that would have reasonably happened between them.

Merlin.

Neither naïve nor a blushing virgin, she hadn’t given much thought to the sexual habits she had with Draco Malfoy, of all people. She was focused on all the other life-changing revelations she had been thrust into.

She couldn’t remember having sex with him, and that felt like a violation of trust. It wasn’t Malfoy’s fault, but still, there was no one else she could project her discomfort onto.

He hadn’t moved from his spot. He looked cemented to the ground, watching Hermione like she was a flight risk.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked, twisting a loose string coming off the sleeve of his jumper.

“Yes—No—I don’t know.”

“Those are generally the three answers to a yes or no question,” he said without a hint of a smile.

“It’s a lot. It’s just a lot.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But, I don’t want you to worry about... that,” he said, his cheeks pinking. “Obviously, I’m not expecting... anything. So, don’t worry about it, okay?”

She tried to relish the slight sense of relief she felt about him showing some embarrassment. It had been feeling horribly one-sided.

“Any other awkward conversations you want to get out of the way? After all, we haven’t talked about finances or religion yet.”

“None right now. I’m sure something will come up.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, before he returned to his chair like a guard returning to their post.

With that thrilling conversation out of the way, she thought about Malfoy.

Malfoy in bed. Malfoy out of bed. Malfoy naked. 

Hermione had sex with Malfoy. At least, she assumed she had. He hadn’t chimed in with a “Oh, Hermione, don’t worry, we’ve actually chosen to be celibate. We’ve never consummated our relationship, so we don’t have to worry about your doctor telling you not to have sex.”

Oh Merlin. How often did they have sex? Every day? Once a week? Once a month? Once a year? She wasn’t sure which of those would be the best option.

What sort of lover was Malfoy? Was he as selfish in bed as he had been back at Hogwarts? Probably so. 

Her anger at being put on cognitive rest had lessened because she could at least be entertained by her thoughts. 

Some of the images Hermione thought of Malfoy were rather quite enjoyable, others horror inducing. She was in the middle of pondering a rather interesting trail of thoughts when she heard speaking outside of her room.

“Hello, Hermione,” a man said, walking inside.

The red hair gave her immediate pause. For a moment, she thought Ron was back, but no, it was someone else.

Arthur and Ginny Weasley, walked side-by-side into her hospital room, both wearing similar expressions of sympathy and worry.

“What are you two doing here?”

“Doing what I always do, solve other people’s problems for them,” Ginny said, coming to sit next to her.

Hermione sat up in bed, suddenly alert. “Did Ron ask you two to come see me?”

Arthur stood near the doorway, looking like his son, taking too much space. “No, Draco did. He called me, and I asked Ginny to come along.”

“Something about needing someone remotely on his side.”

Noticing Hermione’s dangling jaw, Ginny shrugged. “What? I’m not allowed to be on friendly terms with your boyfriend?”

“I thought, well, with how Ron phrased it, I didn’t think I was speaking with anyone from school.”

“I’m fond of Draco,” Arthur said with a small smile. “We work together often.”

Hermione stared at Arthur, confused on where he fit into this equation. She’d never been extremely close to Ron’s father. Only passing conversations to each other when Ron wasn’t around. She wasn’t sure when that changed.

“Plus, I’m sure even 1999 Hermione knows my brother is an idiot.” She shook her head. “I am one of the few that views Malfoy as just a prat instead of a possessive disappointment to all of wizarding kind. I wish I could say the same about the rest of the Weasleys, my idiotic husband included.”

“So, you’re on his side?”

Ginny laughed. “Absolutely not. I’m on your side.”

Arthur took a step forward. “I’ve been so worried about you. I’m glad I was called.” 

“Thank you, Mr Weasley.”

“Oh,” he paused for a moment, “please call me Arthur.” 

“That—uh, seems a bit strange.”

“You’ve been calling me Arthur for almost 6 years now. We work together.” He smiled.

Hermione wasn’t left long in her shock at knowing this new information. Ginny quickly chimed in.

“How are you? What do you need?”

“I don’t know.”

“I wish I could help. My experience with problem-solving usually ends with me giving someone a cookie. It works for James, and Harry too, actually. I could always try that with you?”

"Tell me about them," Hermione said.  

Ginny smiled, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. She liked speaking to someone who didn’t seem to expect anything of her. She talked about her beautiful boy and happy family. James was, according to Ginny, the best child that has ever been born in the history of the world, even if he never wanted to be put down for a nap.

There was a light knock on the door, and Malfoy peaked his head in.

“Hi, erm, Hermione — I think your healer wanted to speak with you. Do you mind if she comes in?”

Ginny laughed nervously. “That’s... polite of you.”

"It's no problem." 

Healer Morgan said little that she hadn’t heard before. No fun. No stress. It was all the same.

“I wanted to speak with you one last time before we discharged you. I’d like to see you regularly for follow-up visits. We’ll owl you for updates.” She paused and looked at Malfoy. “Is the address you gave on her intake paperwork where you’d like to receive your mail?”

“Yes, we live together.”

Hermione only just held in her gasp at the information. She lived with Malfoy? As far as she knew, they’d only been dating for a couple of months. It took her three years to decide that she and Ron should move in together.

“Okay.” Morgan nodded. “Be cautious with her headaches. With any intense pain, she should come back for a check-up.”

“What exactly equals ‘intense pain?’” Ginny asked, poking Hermione in the stomach. “Because she’s notorious for lying about stuff like that.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as they watched all of them talk about her instead of to her. How was she supposed to live with Malfoy? What would that even entail?

“As long as she can talk through the pain, I wouldn’t be too worried about it.”

How big was their home? Was there an extra bedroom? Would they have to share a bed?

Arthur watched her quietly from his corner of the room. He analysed her expressions with a tilt of his face.

“Any specific dietary concerns?” Malfoy asked. He had summoned his small notebook and muggle pen to take notes.

She wasn’t comfortable being alone with him yet. Sure, they’d made progress, but did that equal pretending like they were a happy couple?

“None that I can think of. I would avoid alcohol for the first few months. We can discuss it during a future appointment.”

She had a whole history, an entire life spent with Malfoy. One that she couldn’t remember.

“Hear that ‘Mione?” Ginny nudged her with a grin. “Looks like we can’t down the wine like we used to.”

“Are you okay, Hermione?” Arthur interrupted, all eyes turning to him and then back at Hermione.

“I don’t—I didn’t know I lived with Malfoy,” she whispered.

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond to her, but Arthur cut him off.

“Is that something you want to do? You don't have to if you don't feel comfortable.”

Morgan held her clipboard closer to her chest, awkwardly shuffling her feet. “I think the best way to regain your memories is to attempt to return to your normal life. The more routines you can resume, the faster—”

“I think Hermione should be able to make a choice about her own care.” Arthur nodded encouragingly.

Malfoy opened his mouth to argue again, but this time Hermione didn’t let him.

“I can’t stay with him. I won't.”

“Hermione—” Ginny said.

“I can’t. It’s all too much.” Hermione’s body was tense. Her breaths came faster at the thought of staying with Malfoy. Alone. She didn’t think he would hurt her, but he could. She didn't know him well enough to be certain of his goodness. 

Ginny rested a hand on her shoulder. “He won’t bite you.”

“I can’t.” She looked at Malfoy. His eyes were squeezed shut.

“If you don’t feel comfortable staying with Draco, you don’t have to,” Arthur suggested. She looked at him thankfully, finally glad to have someone that seemed totally on her side.

“I guess you could stay with me,” Ginny said, uncertainly. “If you really aren’t comfortable—”

“I think that might be best. It’s not forever, it’s just right now. It’s too much.”

Malfoy looked at Hermione with closed-off eyes. There was a layer behind them that she couldn’t quite decode yet, but she felt a pang in her chest, regardless. If there were words she could say to help him, she would have, but she wasn’t sure they existed.

Healer Morgan left a pamphlet on the edge of Hermione’s bed and walked out of the room. Ginny stood and went to Malfoy. She spoke to him in a hushed tone. He didn’t respond.

Arthur walked forward and assisted her with gathering the belongings scattered around the room. He helped her stand, and when everything was ready, she saw Malfoy staring at her.

“I’ll walk you to the floo,” he said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. It slightly masked the subtle drooping of his shoulders.

She started walking. Malfoy stayed steps behind her.

Ginny and Arthur stood even further back. Either to give them space or avoid the awkwardness, she didn’t know.

It was the longest walk of her life. Each step echoed, and she didn’t know if she wanted to walk faster and escape Malfoy and the anxieties he caused or stay at his side and demand he told her everything.

At the floo, she nodded at him in her version of an awkward goodbye. He reached out and grabbed her arm to force her to face him. His tight grip and focused eyes locked her in place. His gaze demanded all the attention she had available.

“Hermione, I know you don’t trust me. That’s fine. You have a million reasons not to. But trust yourself. You’re the smartest person I know. If you want to trust something, trust this.” Draco pointed at her head. “Because we were so happy. We were gloriously, obnoxiously happy. I know you don’t remember that, but don’t give up on it. Not yet.”

She stared at him, taken aback by the intensity in his eyes. She felt small. He made her small, timid. He took every uncertainty she ever had and mocked her with a distorted version of it. And it wasn't even his fault she felt that way. 

“I just need time,” she said.

“Take it,” he said immediately. “Take anything you need. Please, just know—” He paused and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “Know I’ll do anything for you. Just ask and it’s yours. Please come back to me when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting. Please.”

His voice broke on that last word. Devastation and fear bled out from the edges of the consonants he spoke.

He held her arm for a moment longer. His hungry eyes devoured her like a man going blind, trying to memorise his favourite piece of artwork while he still could. His finger twitched, and he let go of her.

Ginny walked forward and looped her arm through Hermione’s. “He’s right, you know? You used to be disgusting to look at, especially with all that love you two have.”

She was silent as Ginny grabbed the floo powder and handed some to Hermione and Arthur. He mumbled something about going back to The Burrow. Leaving Ginny and Hermione heading to Grimmauld Place.

Malfoy stood in front of the fireplace, watching them leave.

The last she saw before green flames took her elsewhere was the piercing grey of his eyes peering into her soul.

Chapter Text

Grimmauld Place couldn’t have looked more different from what she was used to. The last time she’d visited it had felt cold, only the barest brushes of life showing. 

Now it was an actual home. 

She looked around as she took in all the changes. The artwork and pictures no longer showed the Black family. Instead, all around her were slice of life moments between the Weasleys and Potters. 

In one picture, a toddler ran between the legs of a smiling Ginny and Harry. Ron and George flew around on a broom, waving at the camera while a flash of black hair raced past in the background. Luna, Neville, and Ginny sipped on cups of tea. There were birthdays, celebrations, weddings. The Potters had filled the walls with memories. Hermione’s gaze flickered from picture to picture, reminders of friendship, family, love.

She wasn’t in a single picture. 

She had been to most of the events on the wall. She had even had pictures taken of her at those things. Still, she was absent. 

Ginny had walked off to another part of the house, presumably grabbing Harry. Hermione felt uneasy standing in a home filled with memories she wasn’t in.

She was watching Ron flash the camera a half smile repeatedly when a pair of powerful arms wrapped around her waist and spun her in the air. Her breath left her chest in a whoosh.

“Hermione!”

Hermione, still shocked by the sudden embrace, looked down a the smiling face of Harry Potter. His joy was so infectious that Hermione forgot about the pounding headache that was exacerbated by his jostling of her.

“Harry, you bloody idiot. She just got out of the hospital!” 

“Oh, right.” He sat her down gently, a sheepish smile on her face. “I couldn’t help it. I’ve missed you!”

Hermione smiled and tried not to think of why she hadn’t talked to Harry recently. They stared at each other, both of their faces unsure.

“Take a seat, Hermione.” Ginny patted the couch next to her.

She looked around, searching. “Where is…”

“I asked Ron to stay at The Burrow for the next couple of days,” Ginny said. Harry’s lips pursed, and she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Hermione is going through enough as it is without Ron pestering her, right Harry?” 

Harry grumbled his agreement

Her thoughts raced through her brain.

You want to see him.

He wants to see you.

Why not?

“I think that’s a little unnecessary. I don’t want to kick him out of his home.”

Before Ginny responded, Harry grinned. 

“See Gin, I told you she’d want him here.”

She glanced between Hermione and Harry. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea for him to come here. Plus, I promised Malfoy that he wouldn’t—”

Harry scoffed. “Who cares what Malfoy has to say? He doesn’t get to keep making Hermione’s decisions for her. You let me know Mione. Do you want Ron here or not?”

She considered it. She trusted Ginny, but she wanted Ron. He had been a comforting presence to her for most of her life. She needed all the comfort she could get. Plus, he likely had the most knowledge about the end of their relationship.

“I would like to see him,” she said in a small voice.

Ginny threw up her hands, muttering something about ‘meddling husbands and clueless best friends,’ and left the room.

Harry sent his patronus to tell Ron to come over. When he finished, he turned to Hermione with a big smile.

“‘Mione, this will be just like old times.”

His excitement had her furrowing her brow.

“Why is this such a grand occasion? Why did we stop talking? Is it because of Malfoy?”

“There are many reasons that we don’t see each other…”

“Feel free to elaborate on that.” 

She tried not to groan as he hesitated. She figured maintaining her composure would likely end with more answers.

“It’s not my story to tell,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

“I really don’t see how our friendship ending has anything to do with Ron.”

“It just does okay, Hermione,” he said, a little exasperated. “Why can’t we just enjoy the fact that we are speaking again?”

“Because to me, it doesn’t feel any different! It’s not a big deal that we are speaking because in 1999 we basically spoke every day!”

“Well, that was before you made some dumb decisions. But again, that’s Ron’s responsibility to tell you.”

Hermione knew she was fighting a losing battle. She could see it in the stubborn way Harry clenched his jaw, squared his shoulders. He wouldn’t answer her, not yet at least.

She sighed. “Okay then, can you at least introduce me to your kid?”

He grinned at her.

“Absolutely.”

A few moments later, Harry returned with a miniature version of himself, clinging to his hand. When he made eye contact with her, he immediately let go of his father’s hand and ran to Hermione.

“Mione! Mione! I missed you!” he said, wrapping his arms around her neck to squeeze. Hermione couldn’t help the smile that came out of her.

“James,” Harry scolded gently. “Remember what I told you? Aunt Hermione was sick. We need to be very careful with her.”

James immediately let go of her with a remorseful expression on his face. “Sorry!”

It didn’t feel real for him to be standing in front of her, so small and unfamiliar.

He was a miniature Harry. His cheeks were still round with the boyhood chubbiness, but he was becoming a little man. 

He was absolutely perfect.

“It’s okay, James. My brain is just being a little silly right now.”

“When I’m silly, Mum tells me it’s time for a nap. Maybe you should try that,” James reasoned with a shrug. 

“I think I’ll try that. Thanks, kiddo.”

“Have you seen my new toy broomstick?” he asked, his attention already fading and moving towards another subject. When she shook her head, he grabbed onto her hand and led her to his toy box in the corner of the room.

He took out gadgets and gizmos and explained the origin of them. Some of his toys were muggle made, others magical. Each toy, according to James, deserved to be treasured.

Hermione laughed while he mimed how he was going to ride on a big boy broomstick once his dad finally gave him one. He gestured wildly as he explained the story of his first time on his toy broomstick.

“You know I always thought you’d be a good Mum, but it’s different seeing you in action,” a voice said from behind her.

Hermione looked up to see Ron leaning against the doorframe and watching her with a smile. Her heart ached as she looked at him again. Harry was right behind him, an excited look on his face.

“Okay, James, I think it’s time you stop bothering your aunt and hang out with me instead.” He squatted to pick up James.

“I’m not bothering no one,” James protested. 

“Sure you’re not,” Harry said.

James continued his complaints all the way down the hall, despite Harry’s attempt to convince him of how much fun playing in the backyard could be. 

She held her breath and followed Ron to the living room. She didn’t realise how strange it was that she almost sat on top of him until she saw Ron’s wide, excited eyes. 

Her cheeks burned as she slowly lifted herself off of him and towards the other side of him. It was an instinct, a hidden urge that she wasn’t used to being forbidden. 

She mumbled a quiet apology. His grin was wide and intoxicating.

How had so much gone wrong between them?

He was supposed to be the one. She was planning a life with him, a future that had been taken away before she knew it was leaving. One night they were discussing weddings and curly-haired, ginger children, and the next thing she knew, everything was broken.

He watched her. His smile plastered on his face, refusing to drop. He wouldn’t be the first to talk, not when his eyes were staring at her and his finger lightly traced over the back of her hand.

“Ron… what happened? This is all so crazy. I can’t believe — tell me what happened.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes like she was lecturing him about completing his homework when they were at Hogwarts. It was incongruent with the actual situation that they were supposed to be dealing with. 

“Well, breakups are never easy.”

“Most breakups don’t end with me immediately dating my arch-nemesis from school and never talking to my best friends again.”

Please. Give her some small detail that would make it all make sense.

He didn’t have that for her. He looked dumbfounded and lost. 

“Hermione, you’re putting me in an impossible situation. It’s a complicated issue. Immediately launching into the history of the last nine years isn’t going to be very good on your brain.”

She wanted to scream. To cry. To break something.

She wanted him to stop looking at her like she’d float away at any second.

Hermione had her entire life planned out from the moment she was still a girl. She assumed that, no; she knew she and Ron were meant to be together. Now she sat on a couch with him, simultaneously too far and too close. She would have sworn he was her soulmate yesterday; now they had to have an autopsy of their lost love together.

“Can you give me a single reason?” she asked.

“After the war, everything was really hard.”

“And?”

“And sometimes it’s hard to be in a relationship when you’re working on yourself. That’s all I want to say about this for now. Please drop it, for now.”

He was a mystery to her. Talking used to be so easy between them. They could communicate for hours. Now getting him to say a simple sentence felt like pulling teeth.

“I can’t just drop it! I need to know why. I need answers. Why have we drifted so far apart? I can’t understand it. Please, please, help me understand why I’ve woken up in this nightmare.”

She reached out to touch his shoulder so she could demand the answers she deserved. He shrugged her off and stood from the sofa. Her stomach clenched, and she felt hopeless watching him pace a few feet from her. Each step felt like an added weight onto her already exhausted psyche.

Her voice shook when she spoke again. “I thought you and Harry would be there for me forever. Apparently, you’ve both abandoned me and left me with Malfoy.”

Something in him shattered. He whipped his face around to stare at her. He walked towards her, his face growing redder with each step.

“You were the one that left us for that bloody death eater, Hermione. Do you hear me? You. Left. Us.”

Each emphasised word, every syllable, each sound was a slap. She shook her head, trying to find the right words to form some sort of denial.

“That’s hard to hear, isn’t it? That you’d choose him over us. But that’s what you did. You chose him over me. Every time there was a choice to be mad — even after everything we’ve survived — you always chose him.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I-I don’t understand.”

She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t. Would she?

“That’s what we all thought. You left our family and started a new one with no space for me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to catch his breath.

She stared at his tense shoulders, listening to the constant pattern of his breaths puffing in and out of him.

Time froze. It stopped moving around her. It transported her back 9 years ago. It moved her to the future. It was everywhere and nowhere.

He moved towards her, his warm hand grabbed her cold ones and splayed her fingers across his chest. She felt his pulse racing.

“This is an opportunity. Choose better this time.”

She shook her head.

“Hermione, choose me. The past is the past. Who gives a fuck about the mistakes we’ve made? I care about us. We would have such a beautiful family, a beautiful life together.”

His voice vibrated up and down her skin, but she was stuck only listening with opened ears and unsure breaths.

One of his hands moved to the base of her skull, grabbing a hold of her face pulling her closer.

Every centimetre he inched closer to her felt like a shot to her lungs. His face moved closer, stealing the air out of her.

She had never understood what it meant to yearn for someone until that moment. There had never been a desire so ingrained into someone’s being as it was for her. She bit her lip to stop professions of her love from escaping.

“Choose me,” he said.

He kissed her, the first a strike to her jaw.

“Choose me.”

His second kiss was an ambush near her ear. Her eyes fluttered close, and his lips were suddenly a welcome invasion.

“Choose me.”

He kissed her cheek, too far and too close to her mouth.

She was missing something. There was so much that needed to be explained to her. She almost pulled away when she saw his eyes, his beautiful eyes. They shined with the hope of first love and broken promises. She lost herself in his blues. He was so familiar, so comfortable.

He leaned towards her mouth.

His lips hovered above hers. She needed to voice her denial. They both stilled, while he waited for her decision.

She turned her brain off and crashed her lips into his. Familiar electricity ran through her skin. His hands tangled in her curls. Their kiss was all teeth and tongue as they pulled each other closer. She needed more of him.

She kissed him once for all the fear she had over the past few days.

She kissed him again for the love she still felt deep in her heart.

She kissed him a third time to forget she had ever betrayed him.

She kissed him a fourth time because it was all she wanted to do.

He groaned into her mouth, a deep guttural thing as she pushed him onto the couch. Her legs straddled him and she ground her hips against him.

A voice in the back of her head gave her a momentary pause.

This isn’t right.

She ignored it as she pressed her body further into Ron’s. Her fingers started unbuttoning his shirt.

You need to stop.

She didn’t stop.

Instead, she kept breathing open-mouthed broken promises and apologies back into Ron. His hands moved down her back to grind her hips into his. His desire, hard in his trousers, pressed into her, causing her to moan.

You are going to regret this.

She wouldn’t. She wanted him so badly. The desire burned her; it consumed. She could show him what it used to be like, and how much they still loved each other.

Remember, you broke up for a reason. You don’t know that reason yet.

She threw herself off of him as the thought burned her. He watched her, a predator stalking prey.

She touched her swollen lips as shame and horror swirled throughout her body.

“That wasn’t right. Oh my god, why did I do that?”

“Hermione, that’s the first correct decision you made in over a year.” He rested on the couch, his arms stretched out wide. His smile was lazy. “You felt how good that was. Focus on that. We have enough chemistry to get through all of this.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” She paced around the room, mumbling to herself.

“Why are you acting like we did something horrible? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that nobody deserves what I just did to Malfoy.”

“Hermione, you don’t owe him anything. Forget him. He isn’t important.”

“He obviously was important to me at some point. We live together. He had to have been special to me at one point. I mean—Merlin, he stayed at my bedside for two months.”

She gasped. Her eyes grew wide with horror. Her thoughts and feelings were burying her alive.

“He stayed at my bedside for months, and the first thing I did the moment I left was betray him.”

As she became numb to her shame, her anger built. She didn’t know who to direct her vitriol at Ron for being complicit in her treachery, or herself for committing the crime.

“You made a mistake. You know you don’t belong with him. We were always meant to be,” Ron repeated. “I love you, Hermione.”

She took a shaking breath as she turned from him.

“I need to be alone. I need you to leave me alone right now.”

“Okay.”

He reached out, his fingertips barely grazing her jumper. She jerked away from him. He dropped his hands, fists dangling.

She could barely get back to a quiet room before she crumbled, tears falling freely. 

Chapter Text

Hermione laid on her bed, eyes unseeing, and picked at the skin around her fingernails. She ripped a sharp strip of flesh next to the crescent of her fingernails. Blood spread across her thumb.

Her mind wasn’t even on the pain on her finger. Instead, she counted and then recounted all the days she couldn’t remember.

Every few moments her fingers drifted up to her swollen lips, before she jerked her hand away as fast as she would a burning stove top.

She wouldn’t—couldn’t think about what happened.

If she allowed herself to endure a self-inflected emotional torture, she’d suffocate under the weight of her betrayal. She’d been disloyal, not just to Malfoy, but to herself. Her kiss with Ron was more than committing an act of infidelity to someone she didn’t believe she belonged to; it was a message to her past. She didn’t trust her choices back then. Not fully.

Her chest burned with the incessant ache of what she had done. Every beat of her throbbing, disloyal heart reminded her of something she wasn’t used to feeling.

Wrong. She felt wrong.

The worst part was how much she had enjoyed her wickedness. Evil things weren’t supposed to feel good. It should have hurt, but the torture left from Ron’s lips and hands was exquisite. How could she figure out what she felt when there was so much pleasure in her pain?

She couldn’t keep thinking about that. She had to move on. Find some other task to occupy herself with.

She busied herself with the meaningless task of memorising the exact shade of the ceiling when she heard a knock.

“Go away.”

A set of hands shot out through the door, holding a tray filled with biscuits and a cup of tea. Ginny peaked her head in.

“It’s me.” She held out her tray like it was a peace offering.

“I don’t want to talk.” Hermione turned her head away, hiding in her shame from him.

“You’re going to explode if you keep all of this inside.” Ginny sat in the chair next to her. “Can I at least tempt you with some tea or something to eat? It’s a lot harder to be upset when you have a full stomach.”

She shook her head, but reached for the tray anyway. Ginny waited patiently as Hermione busied herself with fixing a cup of tea.

Hermione stared down at her hands, watching her tea shift in colour to the desired one.

Hermione mumbled, “I think you’re right.”

“About the full part or the talking part?”

“Both, actually.” She still couldn’t look at Ginny. Each time she tried, she felt another wave of hysteria threaten to boil up and out of her. “I—”

Her mind trapped the words in her throat. She felt the blood pulse in her temples, the throbbing poignant and purposeful. She was tired of her failing brain never working as it should.

“Ginny, I don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t know who I can trust or who’s going to lie and twist my memory so they can—I’d don’t know what sick purpose they’d do that for. But it feels like everyone’s doing that to me. I feel like I’m a prisoner of war, stuck in enemy territory, waiting for someone to decide what they want to do to me.”

Ginny watched her for a few moments before she spoke slow, careful words. “I don’t think you’re wrong for feeling that way.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed, running a hand through her auburn hair.

“Hermione, I love you. You’re my best friend. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that actually tolerates Malfoy. Even Dad seems to put up with him for your benefit. I sort of like the guy, okay? I don’t want to ruin any of what you two have.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I want what’s best for everyone. Some serious drama went down with you and Ron, even Harry. I’m tired of always being stuck in the middle of this.”

“No one’s telling me anything! I think I’m going to combust if I have to hear anything else with a double meaning.”

“What did Ron say to you?”

“He told me I left everyone behind. He was so angry about that. I don’t understand. Why would I do that? It doesn’t make any sense. Ron and I were happy.”

“Well, that’s only the partial truth.” Ginny summoned a cup of tea for her to sip on as well. “You didn’t leave all of us behind. I wouldn’t let you leave me. "You started dating someone you wanted to; you’re allowed to do that."

Hermione nodded. Her eyebrows furrowed.

“Ron wanted you to take him back so many times, but each time you refused. Harry was so furious you wouldn’t get back together with him. He wanted everything to be easy. Then, well, you stopped talking to us as much. Then you pretty much stopped all together.”

“But why did we break up in the first place?”

A thrill of anticipation and ache for information ran through Hermione’s body as she began to find some of the information that she craved.

Ginny shook her head sadly.

“I love you, but I also love my brother. I told him I’d let him explain it all to you. He promised me he would soon.”

It was an impossible situation, and Hermione couldn’t fault Ginny for her familial loyalty. Still, this was yet another secret hidden away from her.

Ginny continued, barrelling through the information she’d given herself permission to tell.

“Ron’s convinced himself that this is his do-over. He wants to do it all right this time. I promise he’ll tell you the truth, but he wants to do it the right way. Harry agrees. They’re both so desperate to have you in their lives again. They weren’t lying when they said they missed you.”

Hermione wondered how she thought of Ron’s decision to continue to hide things from her. Ginny chewed on her bottom lip.

What were the best questions to ask to gather as much information as possible?

“I sort of understand why Ron and I wouldn’t be friends, but what happened with Harry? Why don’t we talk?”

It wasn’t simply a lack of communication; she looked scrubbed out of his life. With a simple glance at Harry’s home, no one would have believed that they had been friends all throughout school. He’d eased their friendship at one point, and that was hard to come to terms with.

“You and Harry started fighting all the time once you and Ron broke up. And—well, you eventually stopped talking to both him and Ron all together."

“How could it have gotten that bad?”

“He just—” Ginny paused and took a deep breath. It was a battle in her head, searching for the right things to say. “Hermione, I love my husband. The only person I love more than him is my son. These past few months have been almost impossible trying not to abandon either of you while you fought. Harry, well, you know Harry—”

She waited as Ginny took a long sip of her tea.

“He has so much passion in him. During the war, Harry held onto that hope of what his future was going to be in order to get himself through it. Him and me together, you and Ron at our sides. But when you left Ron, it destroyed that dream. He couldn’t move past it.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything,” Hermione mumbled.

A hint of dull pain started to spread through the base of her skull. She was getting closer to some revelation that had her mind panicking, both from magical sources and emotional.

“I’m not trying to excuse him. I’m trying to explain him. Look at it from his perspective: you break up with the person he believed was your soulmate. Then you, almost immediately, get together with Malfoy. Harry’s enemy, someone you claimed countless times you had no interest in.”

Hermione gasped. “I didn’t wait before I dated Malfoy?”

“You went on your first date with him less than a week after you ended things with Ron. It was a big point of contention between you and Harry. He thought since you moved on so fast that meant you must have cheated on Ron.”

“I wouldn’t—”

She was going to say that she wouldn’t cheat on someone, but she didn’t know how accurate that would have been given her currently unrecognisable personality.

“You never told me if you did.” Ginny shrugged. “It’s not that weird for someone to date a coworker, and you were really close before you and Ron ended things. You wanted everyone to be friends. Even when you were still with Ron. You’d bring Malfoy to dinner, and then inevitably Harry or Malfoy would say something to anger the other. Then the evening would be ruined.”

Ginny shifted in her seat. “Harry was most cruel to Malfoy when Ron was near. He’d spend the evening making fun of Malfoy to make Ron feel better. You’d feel the need to defend Malfoy, and to Harry it felt like you were bragging about your happiness when Ron was so obviously miserable.”

“I’m sure I was trying to get everyone to know each other better,” Hermione said with a sigh.

She could understand her logic. If she could get over their history and love Malfoy, she could have easily assumed her friends could as well.

“I know, but sometimes what we try to do and what ends up happening isn’t the same thing.”

Hermione’s mouth opened to ask the questions she didn’t know how to vocalise. She shut it and decided it was more efficient to let Ginny speak without interruption.

At that point, Ginny stood. She looked like she was walking away. It was too soon. Hermione didn’t know everything about her past.

“I’ll give you a chance to think this all over. Malfoy sent over some bags with some clothes and a bunch of other things you may want.”

The idea of Malfoy looking through her things to give her something to wear was strange.

“One last thing,” Ginny said, pausing in the doorway. “I know this is hard on you, and I know Ron is trying to convince you to look at this as a way to start over. While I disagree with some of his methods, I agree with the sentiment. This can be an opportunity to start over. Let us all be a family again. I’m not talking about who you love, that’s your decision. I’m just asking that you don’t leave us again.”

When she was alone, she investigated the suitcase and sports bag waiting in the corner. She opened the suitcase first and sorted through the wide assortment of clothes. Malfoy had packed her trousers, blouses, socks, even bras and knickers for her to wear. Again, strange.

He seemed to have thought of everything. Even more, she was thankful that with the sheer amount of things he packed for her, she didn’t seem to be put on a time limit.

She unzipped the bag, and her heart dropped as she sifted through all the things inside. There were books, all of her favourites. Muggle classics and a couple of magical books that she didn’t recognise were there. A small notebook filled with notes in her handwriting.

There was also a small cell phone in the bag.

She lunged for it.

It was like the one Malfoy had shown her at St. Mungos. The screen remained blank until she tapped it with her wand in the way she’d seen earlier. Even though it felt like an invasion of privacy—she didn’t know if it was possible to spy on herself—she opened her phone to her recent messages.

There were plenty of texts expressing concern and get-well soon messages from random people. Taking a bit of time to figure the technology out, she scrolled to the last few messages between her and Malfoy.

Had to leave early. See you tonight. Don’t worry, I ate breakfast.

!!

You’re supposed to type words, Draco. Not symbols.

?

I’m bring home Italian tonight.

Thank y

ou

Hungry !! 

Don’t wait up tonight. I’m staying late to work on a proposal.

:))))

I’m assuming you meant to type a sad face.

That’s not how you do it. I’ll show you tonight.

Be home in 15. I’m wearing that new bra ;)

what’s ;)

It means play your cards right and you can take the bra off of me.

nice

love you

I love you too! See you soon!

Love YOu

So muchhhhh

On and on, the messages continued. It seemed the only messages he knew how to send with some skill were devotions of his love for her. He said it often, mostly unprompted.

She played the lead in a horror film that made her watch all the worst moments on one small little screen. She kept reading until the messages became blurry from her unshed tears. The text was now fuzzy, just like the memories she couldn’t summon.

She didn’t know what she felt about Malfoy. He probably was at their shared home feeling miserable, assuming the worst about her. The part that made Hermione’s throat constrict and stomach clench with guilt was the fact that his fears weren’t that far off.

She wanted to scream and thrash into her blankets until she woke up.

Without allowing herself time to convince herself it was a poor idea, she grabbed for her phone and typed out a message to him.

I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve any of what I’ve done to you.

Immediately, her phone lit up with a phone call. 

Malfoy.

Of course, she couldn’t send him such a cryptic message and expect for him to not immediately respond.

She debated throwing her phone across the room and breaking it so she wouldn’t have to answer it. But there was a hidden urge beneath her that had her mindlessly accepting the call. If she could give Ron the barest of a chance, didn’t she owe the same courtesy to Malfoy?

“Hello?” she asked cautiously. 

She heard a large sigh, a big gulp of breath and then Malfoy’s baritone saying, just a touch too loud, “Hermione? Are you okay? What’s going on?” 

She was quiet, unsure how she could admit to her deception

“Are you okay? Are you feeling okay?” he asked again when her silence continued. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Do you need to go to St. Mungo’s? I can meet you there.” 

“I don’t need to go to the hospital.” 

“Well, that’s good…” he said, just as quiet as her. There was silence, quiet, then a short laugh from him. “Damn, I’ve missed you.”

He whispered the last words, only slight sounds, barely more than the wind. It had Hermione’s throat tightening, clenching around her guilt in anxieties.

She didn’t know how to respond to him. She didn’t miss him. Not really. How could she? She didn’t know him?

“I know you do,” she said.

“Do you— Do you think you’ll come home soon? Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. I’m still… figuring things out here.”

“Okay, it’s no pressure, you haven’t really been gone for long. You come back when you want. I’m ready for whenever you decide. If you ever—”

He cut off abruptly. The if of it all obviously as present in his mind as it was in hers. Neither of them knew if there would be a reunification between them.

“I know you are. I haven’t, well, I was going to say I haven’t forgotten about you, but I suppose I have.” They both laughed uncomfortably. “I know you’re still there… waiting. I-I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologise. You’re figuring things out.” 

She bit her lip. 

Silence again. There was no sound apart from the breathing that both of them were doing into the phone. The sound reverberated between the two, echoing against each other in a sort of distorted lullaby.

It was as peaceful as it was painful between the two of them. She found a sort of awkwardness and comfort in the idea that only one other person was on the other end of the line. Only one other person could listen to her at that very moment.

She wasn’t sure how long they were on the phone for, the sun had long ago set, moon coming up into the sky, but she knew she would have to be the one to break the silence.

“I should probably go to bed.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. You go get some sleep. It was– thank you for answering my call. Is there… anything I can do for you? I’ll do it.” 

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise,” he said again.

Even this bit of acceptance only continued to prolong her guilt. Part of her wished she could apologise without being told how unnecessary it was. Because this time it was necessary.

“Okay… Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Hermione. I lo— Goodnight.”

She hung up the phone and curled back into a ball and cried herself to sleep, where a story waited for her on the other side of consciousness. It pushed her to a land of dreams where everything was happening and nothing felt real.

Her body was stuck in a lost portion of the ground. All she could see was what her limited vision allowed her too. She saw snapshots of her life.

A string of wire, connected them, tangling between her and another person. A man. Faceless and nameless in her nightmare. At first it was a fun thing to look at. But soon it changed. It morphed, distorted into a knot of nothing.

A distant ringing, echoed in the background, pulling her one direction. But a man’s face in front of her keeping her there. The man stared at her, trying to hold onto her, keep her from her leaving.

“You’re inventing new ways to make me feel pathetic,” the man said.

She pulled away from him, leaving, despite how he held on.

The dream faded; she was thrust into another one. This one was clearer. More detail that was harder to discern from the truth. It felt real, and simultaneously fake. There were dark spots in her vision. The things she could see were out of focus. She was a radio tuned to the wrong frequency.

She stood somewhere, maybe outside, but she wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know how you expect me to react to that,” a voice said. It was familiar and distant. Distorted by the wavelengths of the dream.

“I expect you to take my side. I expect you to trust me,” Hermione felt herself saying. She didn’t have control over anything she did. She was a prop for her unconsciousness to take over.

“I do trust you. It’s him that keeps doing things...” She looked at his face, searching for something in his colourless eyes.

“...Needs me...I have to try.” Her voice cut in and out. The memory was so vague, even Hermione couldn’t understand what was coming out of her mouth.

“What about what I need?”

“That doesn’t matter. Not when...” she said.

“Fine! Then go.”

“I will.” Hermione took a few steps from him, before turning on her heel and getting right into his face. “You have no right to...”

“Stop trying to make me feel bad when I’m telling you how I feel.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue with him.

“If you trust...why would you feel....”

She took a step closer to him.

“I’m so tired of you always—”

“You’re just so fucking—”

They both stopped when they realised they interrupted each other. Their chests heaved. There was a momentary pause, a heartbeat, before they both crashed into each other. Their kiss was all clashing teeth and wandering hands.

She woke to a cocoon of blankets tangled around her body from tossing and turning.

She found her phone and looked at it, finding a message from a man named Theo.

Granger, I will physically drag you from that house if I need to.

But obviously ‘take all the time you need’

And all that rubbish, or bullshit depending on how you look at it.

She put her phone down and promised herself she wouldn’t look at it again. All of her energy was devoted to gaining the courage to leave the room she’d isolated herself in. It was exhausting always feeling miserable for herself, but she couldn’t make her take the steps to leave.

Ron was outside the door. Harry was outside. She wasn’t ready for them yet. So, she stayed in bed.

Ginny came a few times to bring her food, and left quietly when Hermione said she didn’t want to talk.

The next day went about the same.

She slept. She ate. She stared at the wall.

She justified the prison she isolated herself into by pretending it was useful for her recovery. And she supposed it was, it simply served more purposes than one.

It took her three days of nothing before she could convinced herself to finally do something productive. When she felt a sudden burst of courage intermixed with boredom, she left her the constricting room.

With only a few glances around her to make sure the coast was clear, she claimed a spot at the Potter’s kitchen table.

It felt freeing to not be confined by the four walls of her self-inflicted prison. She took out one of the magical books she didn’t recognise and started reading. It felt rebellious, but she couldn’t help it. She stared at the tiny font and rejoiced in how wonderful it felt.

At some point, Harry had walked into the kitchen. He stared at her while he folded James’s clothes. Her eyes narrowed on the wand that was lying on the table, unused even though a laundry folding charm was taught in first year.

“Need something?” she asked.

“Oh, no, I don’t,” Harry said, running off to the back of the house.

10 minutes later, he returned, this time deciding he simply must wash his dishes the muggle way. The sound of dishes rattling was interspersed with him glancing over his shoulder and sighing.

“Something you’d like to say?” Hermione asked.

“Nope.” He pulled out his wand to finish cleaning the rest of the dishes.

The third time she caught him staring, he was more blatant about it. He sat in the chair opposite her and watched her read.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Reading,” she said. Then she snapped her book shut. “Harry James Potter, if you’re about to tell me not to read, then I will tell you that—”

He held up his hands in defence. “Don’t worry. I know better than to come between you and books.”

She narrowed his eyes at him struggling with the words he wanted to say. He opened his mouth, then quickly snapped it shut."

“Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to tell me. I’m waiting for Ron to do it.”

He sighed. “Hermione, I’m sorry.”

She blinked at him. “Excuse me? What for?”

“I haven’t treated you right since you and Ron broke up. I think it took  seeing you and realising what I’ve been missing by being angry at you for me to finally get how much of an arse I’ve been.”

She could count on one hand the number of times Harry had genuinely apologised to her. 

“I don’t even remember you being rude. Of course, I forgive you,” Hermione said immediately. He smiled and stood from the table to hug her. She cautiously wrapped her arms around him and smiled into his embrace.

“Good,” he said. His joy brightened his features, and it made her smile grow. “This is wonderful. Because it can all go back to the way it’s supposed to be. You’ll forgive Ron, and then we can go back to being happy again.”

“Wait, Harry I didn’t say—”

“Well, that’s okay. You’ll probably need to take some time to figure everything out. You can stay with Ginny and me until you and Ron find a place.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I just imagine that you wouldn’t immediately want to move in together. Do you want to find your own place together? Because obviously that’s okay with me.”

His excitement kept building, overflowing, until it all poured out of him and submerged her. She had given him one bit of leeway, and he ran with it to create scenarios of his own choosing.

“I haven’t said that Ron and I are going to get back together,” Hermione said. She had to wrangle the conversation back to the understandable.

“What?”

“What are you confused about?”

“I’m confused about the fact that you kissed him. Why would you do that if you weren’t still interested in him?” The pink behind Harry’s cheeks bloomed, and Hermione felt like she needed to prepare herself for war.

“I don’t know what that was, but Harry, I’m dating another man. I can’t—”

“Oh, Malfoy,” he sneered. Hermione’s eyes widened at his vicious tone. “It all comes back to him, doesn’t it?”

She gripped the table in front of her until her knuckles turned white. She battled her need for independence, the rude tone that Harry had taken, and even the overwhelming need her body felt to defend her stranger-of-a-boyfriend’s honour.

“I-I—I don’t know. He was at least something to me. I can’t throw that all away. I don’t even—”

“What are you doing, Mione? You don’t even like him.”

His voice had lost all of its poison in his belittling attempts to appease her anger. He spoke to her like she was a foolish child. It wasn’t calming. It was patronising.

“That’s not fair. I can’t just throw everything that happened in the past away. I don’t even know what happened between Ron and me.”

“Well, you can blame your precious M—”

“Ah-hem,” Ron cleared his throat from behind them. They jumped apart, both of them stewing from a fight that felt as if it had gone on for far too long and then not long enough. “Am I interrupting something?”

Harry and Hermione spoke over each other.

“Yes,” he said, glaring at her.

“No.”

Ron shuffled on his feet, looking uncomfortable. “Can I talk to you, Hermione?”

Harry moved in between them, shielding Ron from her view.

“I don’t know if now is the best time,” Harry whispered tersely. He shook his head quickly without glancing back at Hermione.

“I don’t think it’s going to get any better with time.” He shrugged and stared at the floor.

“I want to hear it,” Hermione pushed herself away from the table. “Let’s talk.”

Harry sighed audibly, but they paid him no mind, instead walking out towards the backyard with an air of trepidation and reluctance floating around them.

Chapter Text

Her fingers traced the hem of her top, a convenient way to avoid listening to Ron’s half-hearted babbling that had long ago lost its importance.

They walked around the Potter’s backyard. A place that, according to Ron, had taken extensive magic years ago to make it seem larger. It used to be a stretch of land with dirt and patches of grass, but now it had a beautiful garden with rose bushes and shrubbery.

Ron decided it was of the utmost importance to explain every single part of the yard to her.

“James loves picking the flowers here. Ginny hates it. Sometimes—get this—sometimes we’ll come out here and James will just pick all of the flowers! He says if he gives it to his mum as a present, she has to forgive him.” He laughed short and sharp at the failure of a joke.

Nervous energy ricocheted between the two of them. His seemed to be because of a fear of the future and hers was fear of the past. She let him talk, even though he had been doing so for far too long. Her biggest priority was quieting her aggressive heartbeat. Once that was finished, she could finally demand her answers.

“And James always falls down and skins his knee right here.” He motioned to the cracked cobblestone path that wound itself around a hedge. “I always remind her how important it is to not run here, but he never listens. He’s a bit like his dad in that sense.”

“Yeah…”

“I think he could benefit from some more influence from you. He always listens to you.”

Each step they took around the garden was tense, and each time Ron caught his breath, she thought he’d finally reached the limit of useless facts he could present to her, but he kept finding more.

“Ginny loves working in the garden here. I think she likes the quiet. It can be a bit much in the house sometimes.”

“I can imagine. Want to sit down?” She motioned to the small bench in the garden's corner.

His steps stuttered. She put a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched away from her touch.

“Ron, it’s time. You need to talk to me.”

It took him several moments of shuffling his feet before he nodded and sat down.

The air breeze floated across her face as she waited for him to finish staring at the sky. His mouth was opened in silent prayer as he searched for something to loosen the noose he had tightened around his own neck. It looked like he’d prefer a lightning strike to what he was about to do.

Unfortunately for Ron, it was a cloudless day. It seemed rather unlikely any rogue thunderstorms would flash.

Finally, he took a deep breath and searched her face for something.

“When I tell you this, you have to promise…” he trailed off.

“Promise what?”

“Promise to forgive me,” he sighed.

Oh.

This was not where she thought the conversation was headed at all. She had assumed she’d be the one begging for forgiveness.

She hesitated over what the appropriate answer was. “You know I can’t promise anything without all the information, but I promise I’ll try to.”

He met her eyes.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“The beginning sounds like as good a place as any.”

She gave him a smile that was closer to a grimace. She had diverted all of her mental focus to focusing on breathing in and out at regular intervals.

He nodded to himself. “Okay.”

Ron took a shaking breath.

More silence.

She reached out to take his hand in hers. His eyes focused on her fingers and the thumb that she used to trace his knuckles. She let him take comfort in touch that must not have been that familiar to him. Then, after a deep breath, he began.

“I need you to understand that after the war… everything was hard. I didn’t realise how much I counted on Fred and George. They had always been there. For me. To make me laugh. And George, well, you remember what happened with him, it felt like I’d lost two brothers at once.”

She nodded. George’s post-war spiral after losing his twin was one of the hardest things to endure. What had been such a lively-spirited boy had turned into a sullen, bitter man.

“Well—just—please— it was hard. Everything was so hard after the war. I felt like nothing I did mattered. I couldn’t save Fred. I didn’t know how to help George and—” He stopped speaking to collect himself, and calm down. “Well, no one cared about me. I was barely noted in the books and articles written. It was all about Harry, or you, or even Neville. I was just the sidekick mentioned in passing. It was like my sacrifices paled compared to yours.”

She remembered the media attention that had surrounded them after the war. There had been interview requests, biographers, photographers, it was all common-place. She had noticed that there had been more media attention around her and Harry, but that was something she had envied about Ron. She didn’t want to live in the spotlight.

“Your sacrifices weren’t—”

“Hermione, please let me finish. I need you to understand how I felt. It was like I was forgotten. By everyone. Mum had Dad, Bill had Fleur, Charlie had his fucking Dragons, Percy had Audrey, George had everyone, Harry had Ginny, and I—”

“You had me,” she finished for him, “I wouldn’t have abandoned you. I know that.”

He ripped his hand from hers with a bitter laugh.

“You had your work. You were obsessed with your new job at the ministry. Making advancements and changing lives. You spent all your time with Malfoy and that friend of his doing whatever rubbish you wanted to.”

“What does Malfoy have to do with this?”

Suddenly, all his dread and trepidation had washed away, leaving a boiling pile of emotions.

“He was always there! Always talking to you, always flirting. He wouldn’t leave you alone no matter—”

He gripped the fabric of his trousers in an effort to calm himself down. Each exhalation from him twisted her stomach into knots. When he spoke again, he forced each word out.

“I asked you to build some… boundaries between both of you and, well…”

“Tell me I didn’t choose him over you.” Her hysterical interruption caused him to look up at her again.

“Not at that point, you didn’t.”

“Just tell me,” she said, her patience running thin.

“You have to understand. I had just lost my job. I didn’t… have anything. My life was spiralling down the drain. And, well, I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to—”

He paused and Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“A year ago, you, me, Harry and Ginny went to this big war memorial party. Both you and Harry were the keynote speakers. You and Harry were being photographed together. They didn’t even wait before they took the picture. I was at the bar drinking. I-I had a lot to drink.”

Ron took a shaking breath, one that Hermione mimicked the motion, but her breathing was filled with excitement, anticipation.

“When I went to look for you, I found you and Malfoy talking and—he always looked at you this sort of way, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like how he talked to you. You told him some things… I didn’t like to hear. I thought I could show you I didn’t deserve that. And, Hermione, I swear she approached me first.”

No.

He didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

“She came up to me. Asked if I was ‘the Ron Weasley.’ Just like that. No one had ever said it like that. I’m not excusing what I did. I shouldn’t have, but she made me feel special. I just wanted to feel—”

“You didn’t.”

“We slept together. Just once,” he added, as if that made his betrayal sting less. He then began to babble, his words of defence tumbled out of his mouth quickly. “I was so lonely. You weren’t—I felt like you weren’t there for me. No one was.”

“My whole life I was forgotten. The youngest brother. The chosen one’s best friend. The smartest witch’s boyfriend. I was always someone’s someone. Never my own person. I just wanted to feel like a someone.”

He began to cry. Big fat tears. She looked away, his grief and her sudden burst of anger mixed together as well as oil and water.

“Who?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Who?”

“Who did you decide to throw our relationship away with?”

“I don’t remember her name.” His cheeks turned bright red.

Good.

She hoped his shame burned him.

“I can’t decide if that makes it worse or better.” She let her voice become detached from her body.

“You were off on your own world with Malfoy. You hardly cared when I told you. It’s just worse now, because you don’t remember any of the bad we had.”

“Are you saying I was happy my boyfriend cheated on me?” Her glare turned icy.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. You just—you and him were so close. You don’t even realise the way you used to speak to him. I was half convinced you were planning on leaving me for him, or that you’d already cheated.”

“So what? You decided to get a jump start on it? End our relationship for us?” she snapped.

“No, that’s not what I was trying to say. I’m not explaining it right. It was—” He kept speaking his excuses, but she didn’t want to keep listening. Her thoughts were suffocating and his words felt like poison.

A pause, before she realised.

“You didn’t tell me this.”

“No, I told you immediately after I did it. I couldn’t handle the guilt.”

“I don’t mean years ago, Ronald Weasley,” she seethed. “You let me kiss you without telling me the whole story. Were you hoping I’d never ask?”

“No, I was always planning on telling you,” he cried, reaching to touch her. She recoiled out of his betraying hands. “I just needed time… I wanted to remember what it was like to be with you.”

“You told me it was my fault. You made it seem like I left you. You-you took advantage of me.” Her mouth tasted like venom. Maybe she could spit it in his eye and watch him burn from the pain.

“I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to show you we belong together. And we do, belong together, that is.”

He sobbed, and she wanted his tears to choke him. It was with a sadistic joy that she watched his shirt become damp from the tears that fell from his face. She loved him so much, and now she wanted him to hurt.

She wanted to hate him.

She wanted him to suffer.

She wanted to go home.

If only she knew where that was.

She pushed herself off of the bench so she couldn’t hear the sounds of his soft sobs. Her hand raised so she could pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I am sorry you felt alone. I am sorry that you saw no other alternative. I am sorry you thought I didn’t see you as a person. But right now, I’m so mad at you I could—”

She looked up at the sky, desperate for something she couldn’t articulate. “I cheated on my boyfriend with you. You made me no better than you are.”

“Hermione, I didn’t mean to—”

“Save it.”

His flinch caused a torturous joy to travel through her body. When she spoke again, her voice shook, either from anger or the tears she was suppressing.

“I promised I’d try to forgive you, and I intend to keep that promise. But right now, if I have to look at you for one moment longer, I will—” Her fingers craved her wand. She wanted to hex him. To punish him. Her rage was so desperate to boil over. If it erupted, it would burn herself and anyone within her radius.

“Just go,” she said.

In the time it took for her to force herself to stop digging her fingernails into her palms and drop her tense shoulders, he was gone.

Her spine drooped as the sobs threatened to wreck her body. She didn’t want to believe it. It felt like yesterday she and Ron were talking about marriage, and then this. Her Ron, her sweet, loyal, always there, Ron cheated on her with a girl he had quickly forgotten.

When she convinced her numb mind that she was ready to walk back inside, the sun had long set. Her chest ached almost as badly as the throbbing in the back of her skull.

Ginny and Harry were in the kitchen waiting for her.

“Are you—” Harry began, before he stopped and at least had the decency to look contrite, “I’m sorry.”

“I—uh—I want to leave.” She looked over at Ginny for help.

She motioned to the corner with a frown. “I already packed your things.”

Harry looked frantic.

“No. You can’t leave. You need to go find Ron.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione asked.

His eyes darted between her and his wife.

“You need to go figure things out with him. You can’t just leave him alone and upset like this.”

“Harry…” Ginny cautioned. She placed a hand on his arm to pull him back towards her.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Hermione actually had a good idea of what he was implying; she just couldn’t believe it.

“You need to, I don’t know, get over this. He needs your help.” His eyes raced back and forth, panicking.

All the hurt and suffering she had wished on Ron was now directed at the man standing in front of her.

“How dare you? Did you think I’d forgive and forget what he did? That I’ll immediately decide to get over it without any time to process?”

She wanted to strangle him, to reach out and wrap her fingers around his scrawny neck. She wanted to squeeze until he realised that he was wrong.

“Do you really think I’m that heartless or emotionless?” Hermione said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“He needs help.”

Those three words were her breaking point. Everything came tumbling forward.

“I’m the one that needs help! I’m the one that just got out of the hospital. I have memory loss, a cheating ex, and I live with someone who I used to think was evil scum! I don’t see how you could possibly think I’d be okay with this.”

“Hermione, you don’t understand,” Harry said indulgently to her tantrum. “He barely survived it when you left him the first time, he can’t handle it again.”

“But what about me?” she asked, quietly, hopelessly. “Why don’t I get my friend to be worried about me?”

“He’s my best friend. I have to help him.”

“When did I stop being your best friend? When did you decide to choose him over me?” She felt desperate for him to listen to her. For him to understand.

“I didn’t choose anyone, it was you that chose.” His volume had steadily begun to rise. Ginny moved so she could stand in between them.

“Harry, Hermione, wait—”

“When have you ever not chosen him over me?” Hermione tried to hold back her screams, but she was unsuccessful. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. You have always chosen Ron over me. Every single time a choice had to be made. I knew. I knew you weren’t picking me.”

She couldn’t decide which urge was stronger, the desire to pull her hair out or to shove him against a wall and knock his head into the wood.

“That’s not fair and you know it,” he said.

“How is it not fair? It’s always been you and Ron. Occasionally, you’d include me when you found space for your walking encyclopaedia.”

“Let’s all just calm down,” Ginny pleaded to no response.

“Oh please,” Harry sneered. “You’re just being dramatic.”

“I’m being dramatic? You’re kidding right? How about I explain all the ways you chose him. First year, I was the know-it-all you could make fun of. It took a fucking troll to get you to even want to be my friend. Third year, Ron and I fight over Crookshanks and you take his side without proof!”

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning away from her. She stabbed a finger into his chest and hoped it made him bleed.

“Fourth year, your dearest thing in the Triwizard Tournament was Ron. Not me! Because of course it couldn’t be me. He spent the entire year acting horribly to you and you still chose him. Who cares how I felt about it, right? And I didn’t care. I didn’t complain, because I know that this is what I should expect from you. It’s a pattern you’ve proven time and time again.”

He was silent, his glare blocked by the wall that Hermione had built between them. Ginny’s eyes flashed between the two of them.

“You will always choose him over me. I’ve always known that. I just didn’t think you’d try to sabotage me in order to uplift him.” She broke her gaze from Harry’s dangerous eyes so she could look at Ginny. “I need to get out of here.”

“Please don’t go yet.” She looked close to tears. “We can talk this out.”

“I don’t want anything to do with him right now. I want to leave.”

Harry scoffed, his voice full of sarcasm and sin. “Of course, that’s what you do best. Leave us and go to Malfoy. I guess a brain injury can’t change everything.”

“Harry, don’t say that,” Ginny scolded.

“No, let him. Let him go on and on about how horrible I am. I’d love more reasons to want to leave.”

“Ron is broken!” Harry screamed. “You broke him and you can’t even pretend to want to fix him.”

“Harry!” Ginny’s protests were barely heard over Harry.

“You broke him a months ago, and here you are breaking him again. Every bit of progress he’s made over the last year is gone. You kissed him and now you can’t even—”

“Why don’t I get to be broken?” she interrupted. “Why don’t I get to be upset? What do you actually want me to do? Pretend to be okay with what he did as long as it preserves your best friend’s happiness? Will that finally make you like me? Do you honestly think that pretending to love him is what’s best for everyone?”

“It’d certainly be better than spreading your legs for a fucking death eater.”

“Then let me leave! Let me go fuck the enemy. Who cares anymore? You’ve lost your right to tell me what to do.” Her tears had fallen, and she desperately tried to control them.

“Leave, then. Go abandon us. God forbid you actually confront things when it gets tough. As soon as things get hard you leave. That’s what you did when you told Ron you couldn’t speak to him again. That’s what you did with me. That’s even what you did during the war with your parents. That’s all you know how to—”

A whimper escaped Hermione’s mouth as each word felt like a knife in her gut.

“Enough!” Ginny screamed. “I’m so tired of all of this fighting all the time. Harry, let her leave. Hermione, he’s upset. He’s saying things he doesn’t mean.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione.” Harry couldn’t even look at her. “I need to find Ron.”

He apparated away, staring at his feet.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, turning towards her friend who seemed to be holding back tears. 

“I had a feeling it was going to end up like this. I just hoped — well, nevermind.” She made a noise that sounded like a mix between a laugh and a sob.

“I think I should leave,” she said as she ignored the voice in her head telling her she should stay where she was and figure everything out.

“Where will you go?” Ginny asked, her voice thick with tears.

“I think I have some explaining to do with Malfoy.” She looked over at Ginny for help. “I just don’t know how to get there.”

She felt like she was going to burst into tears again as Ginny gave her the address along with a bowl of floo powder.

“I’ll try to visit soon.”

Hermione didn’t respond as she disappeared with a green flash.

Chapter Text

She expected dungeons or torture chambers in Malfoy’s home, not an overabundance of books and a sleeping Crookshanks curled into a ball on the sofa.

Malfoy was looking up at her with a slack jaw as she walked through the fireplace and dropped her bags. All at once, her reluctance charged forward. Hermione hadn’t properly thought her arrival through. She wasn’t ready to see him, talk to him about all the ways she’d betrayed their past. She should have found somewhere else to stay.

“Hermione?” he said, dumbfounded. With a momentary hesitation, he stood to greet her. “I didn’t know you were — come in. Come in.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe I should have called.”

“No, of course not. It’s your home too. I’m sorry. I would have cleaned if I knew...” He motioned to his surroundings with pink cheeks.

A man she didn’t recognise lounged on an armchair to the side of the room, a glass of amber liquid in his head. He leaned forward to get a better look at her.

“You look like hell.”

Well, that was sobering.

She was sure she looked a dangerous combination of exhausted, livid, and distraught, but she didn’t need to be reminded of that.

Malfoy didn’t spare a glance at the man, keeping his eyes focused on her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking a small, cautious step towards her.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The man smirked. “My money’s on something with Potter. He was probably being a dick again.”

“I’m sorry. Who the hell are you?”

His expression faltered; a second passed as he exchanged a glance with Malfoy before turning back towards her with a glint in his eye.

“Hermione,” he tutted, “I’m surprised you don’t recognise me. How could you forget our great love affair? I thought three days of nothing but raw, sexual energy would—”

“Leave her alone, Theo,” Malfoy said. The ‘Theo’ in question rolled his eyes.

“Fine, Theodore Nott,” he said, extending his hand. “I am actually offended you don’t recognise me. We went to school together, after all.”

Her eyes flickered from his outstretched palm to his increasingly familiar face, but she didn’t make a move to shake his hand.

“Wow, 90s Hermione is even bitchier than when we first met.”

“Theo, leave.” Malfoy pushed him towards the floo.

“Fine, try not to be too weird around each other.” He nodded at both of them before he left.

And then it was just the two of them staring at each other with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Him and I... we didn’t… you know… right?”

Sleeping with one Slytherin was bad enough. If she slept with two, she wasn’t sure her pride would survive the beating.

“I haven’t heard about it if you have. I highly doubt he’d blurt out something like that on a Thursday evening.” He shook his head, obviously not enjoying the mental image. “Besides, I don’t think you’re exactly his type. He’s gay. Theo just likes to get on people’s nerves, but — uh — he’s a good friend when you get over how big of a dick he is.”

“Oh, thank Merlin.”

The wry smile he gave her faded when he looked at her closely. He stepped towards her again.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not.”

She wouldn’t cry. Not anymore. Not in front of Malfoy, of all people.

He nodded and waited for her to elaborate. When he was met with silence, he spoke again.

“Well, if you don’t want to talk about it,” he hesitated, “I guess you can go ahead and look around. It is half yours.”

Her feet stayed planted, and she let her eyes travel around a room she had no memory of decorating. 

In the centre of the room sat a tan sofa with green and brown throw pillow scattered haphazardly. A red and gold blanket was draped over the back of the couch.

The room felt alive. Literally. Life was poured into every aspect of the room through muggle and magical plants that hung from the ceiling, sat atop end tables, and stood tall in the room.

“We both decorated the place. We decided on neutral colours, although you fought hard for red and gold as an accent colour.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Theo says it looks like a Hufflepuff threw up in here. But we like it. It’s simple. Like us. Plus all the plants are good for potions.”

If there was any doubt this had been her home, it was thoroughly eliminated when she looked at the books scattered around the room. They were everywhere: on bookshelves, under the coffee table, even in small stacks on the arms of the sofa.

He followed her eyes. “Oh, yeah, the books, well you know you and your books.” He gave a short laugh with clenched fists. “You always keep the books out here even though I always ask you to put them in the bookshelf.”

He looked at the piles wistfully, running a finger along one of the spines. She focused on his hands, long fingers with silver rings. It was the only part of him that wasn’t hard to look at. 

“I—we sold the manor,” Malfoy said, “to the ministry actually. They donated it to the Muggle Prime Minister. Apparently, they wanted a new tourist trap and Shacklebolt wanted more sway with the Muggle government. I think they said it’s some old princess’s castle.”

“How long? When did we move in together?” Her voice sounded distant and hoarse, even to herself. His eyes snapped back to her.

“We moved in together three — four months ago? It was quick, but…” His voice trailed off. He worried on his lip, trying to find the right words. “You didn’t have another place, so we thought it would be best if we found a place together. It just worked.”

She smiled as strongly as she was capable of.

“We sold most of the furniture from the manor, none of it was our style. It was pretty fun to search for furniture together. Although I don’t think you really liked it. I guess I’m more of the type of person to like stuff like that.”

She didn’t know him well enough to determine if his incessant talking was because of nerves or a desire to explain their past to her, but his smile was wider than she had ever seen it.

The look on his face finally broke her. It was so hopeful. His eyes glowed with a bright light as he shuffled from foot to foot.

It was a tower of feelings. His blind optimism was a layer, her fight with Harry another, Ron’s betrayal made up a large portion, and everything she couldn’t remember teetered on top of it. It was a stack of soaring pain.

Then it crashed.

His monologuing faded when he saw her silently crying in the middle of their living room. In a flash, he stood in front of her; his face was desperate in its search for the cause of her turmoil.

“Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said.

As if an apology was good enough.

The life she had crafted, exemplified by the household she had created with Malfoy, was slipping through her fingertips right before her eyes. She didn’t know if the past was worth holding onto, but she was wondering if she’d ever get the chance to know. Especially since, the dawning of her understanding of the degree of the betrayal she had committed was right in front of her.

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

“Oh, if only that were true!” She gave a hysterical laugh. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I shouldn’t have… I’m so sorry.”

As if hit by a hex, his whole body froze to the spot. The only indications that he wasn’t a statue were his narrowed eyes and cautious breaths.

He spoke slowly, each sound carefully articulated. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You said that already. Can you explain exactly what you’re sorry for?”

“Ron and I kissed.”

His eyes widened before he scrubbed his emotion off of his face. She stared into his blank eyes.

He was silent.

“I guess, I kissed him. That’s more accurate, I suppose.”

“Oh.”

She waited for him to say more, but he remained quiet, staring at nothing. Her eyes searched his face for more information, but his face was void of anything.

“It—I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He kept staring at her, his shoulders tense and posture rigid. What was he thinking? Would he tell her his thoughts or was he planning on leaving her suspended in her confusion?

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“I am aware that is what you are feeling,” he said in a clipped voice. “Please give me a moment to determine exactly what my thoughts are on the matter.”

If she thought admitting to her sins would make her feel better, she was wrong. She was beginning to feel like Atlas. The entire world rested upon her tiny shoulders.

His eyes squeezed shut. “Did you… do more than kiss?”

“No,” she responded immediately. The small breath he released only partially eliminated some of his tension. She started blubbering. “It was before—before he told me—everything. I still shouldn’t have done it. But—”

He held up his hand to quiet her. A long breath passed.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m choosing to forgive you for this.”

“Just like that?”

He was supposed to fight with her. Tell her what a whore she was. Throw her out the door. Make her grovel for forgiveness. Something.

Instead, he kept staring at the floor like it held her lost memories.

“Would you prefer I stay angry at you?”

“No.”

He smiled mirthlessly.

“I won’t lie and say I enjoy hearing this information, but I’m trying to see it from your perspective. I understand… it didn’t mean what it would have meant before your injury.”

He kept staring at the floor.

“You don’t want to talk about it or anything?”

“Not at the moment. I may in the future, but uh… no. I don’t really want to hear any more about it right now.”

His breath faltered, each breath became more effortful and uneven. This was a man who was clutching onto the last shreds of self-control he had left.

“Oh, Okay.”

“Just—look, Hermione, I am choosing to forgive you for this. This doesn’t mean I’ve already forgiven you.”

He met her eyes, and gave her an unfathomable look.

She nodded, feeling slightly better.

“Well as fun as this entire exchange has been, you look exhausted and, for some reason, I’m feeling the need to drink copious amounts of alcohol. I’m going to Theo’s for the night. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Malfoy—” He grimaced and she cursed her inability to let his first name slip naturally off of her tongue. “I’m—”

“Sorry. Yes. You’ve said that once or twice.” He paused. “Well, our room is the last door on the left. You can’t miss it.”

“You don’t have to leave. I’ll go somewhere else for the night.”

She had stretched him too tautly, and he finally snapped.

“Fuck Hermione! Where would you go?” She flinched and backed away from him. His sneering tone brought her back to Hogwarts, when he did his best to make her feel small. “How about you go back to Weasley’s place? Want to keep figuring out your unresolved feelings by fucking him this time? Didn’t get enough of him did you? Or do you have any other ex’s you think are due for a good snog? I heard Krum travelled back to Britain recently. Want to share a bed with him?”

Both their eyes widened.

They took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m angrier than I thought.”

“Of course you should be mad at me. I really messed up. You don’t have to forgive me,” she whimpered. Her cries reignited and she became less intelligibile.

“Oh for all the fucking—” Malfoy groaned. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t cry. We’ll be fine. I just need some space.”

More breaths passed.

“This is not the first time we’ve fought, and I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last. Normally you’re less guilt-ridden when we argue, but obviously things aren’t exactly typical right now.”

Her lower lip kept trembling.

“I need some time to remind myself how much I love you, and then I’ll get over it. Okay?”

She opened her mouth to respond.

“If you’re about to apologise again…” He shook his head and tried to calm himself. “I understand you’re sorry. Thank you for the apology. You don’t have to keep saying it.” He moved towards the fireplace.

“Before I leave, do you need anything from me?” he asked. She shook her head. “If you need me, you can call me or floo to Nott Manor. I would appreciate some space tonight, but tell me immediately if it’s an emergency. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

With one last indecipherable look, he left.

She stood alone in a room she couldn’t remember decorating, surrounded by pictures of herself, and she had never felt more alone. She tried to remember. If she could dig through her mind and find the missing pieces, she wouldn’t have to shuffle through all of her feelings.

When no memories came she went into the bedroom. She barely made it to the bed before her sobbing started.

She was so tired of always crying.

That night, she dreamt of friends that felt long gone. Her body wasn't in her control, her words falling freely from her mouth. But Hermione saw the stories of her past, or what she thought might be her past, playing out in clear detail. 

“You won’t believe this,” Hermione called out as she grabbed beers from Harry’s fridge. “Guess who I’m assigned to work with for my next project.”

Hermione tried to exude an aura of calm, despite the giddiness she still felt. Her hands were still shaking from her reintroduction, but she tried to steady them.

“Who?” Ron asked when she sat next to him.

“Draco Malfoy.”

“You can’t be serious.” Harry laughed and grabbed the beer Hermione handed him. “You’re stuck working with him? I can’t believe they even let him hold a job.”

“Well,” Hermione felt herself aching to defend, “we both defended him at his trial…”

“That doesn’t mean I want him to have a say in our government,” Ginny said with a laugh.

“I guess you’re right.” She stretched her legs out onto Ron’s lap. His hands drifted down her legs to massage her calves.

“Was he still a prat?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It was weird. He wasn’t really what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he apologised to me.”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“He said he was sorry for how he treated me in school and how thankful he was that I spoke up for him.”

“Wow.” Harry nodded his approval. “I’m actually a little impressed with the ferret.”

“He even told me to extend his apologies to you all as well.”

They were silent as they took in the information.

Ginny was the first to speak. “I’m glad he’s not as big of a dick as he used to be. Is he still hot?”

Harry rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around Ginny’s shoulder.

“Ginny!” Hermione felt her face heat. “He is a coworker. It would be totally inappropriate for me to look at him sexually.”

“Yeah,” Ron said sarcastically, “that’s the only reason why that would be inappropriate.”

“There’s also the fact that I’m gloriously happy with my wonderful boyfriend.” She leaned forward so she could give him a chaste kiss on the lips.

Ginny grinned. “I’ll take your lack of an answer as you saying he looked fit. Good to know.”

Chapter Text

Finding Draco Malfoy using his wand to cook various breakfast foods was not how she imagined any morning of her life would go, but there she was.

The smell of bacon drove her out of her bed the next morning. She paused when she stood on the edge of the unfamiliar kitchen to watch him.

He tapped his fingers offbeat on the edge of a countertop. She searched for a disjointed melody in the tune he played in his head, but didn’t find it. Likely his tapping was a show of tension, or a test of control in the form of creating an uncoordinated rhythm. Her maybe it was a third meaning that she didn’t understand about him yet.

Her estimation of him kept shifting. One moment he was a bully and a villain, the next he was a stranger acting as a personal chef.

She didn’t stay like a coward hiding behind the shadows of the wall. She took a cautious step forward and spoke up in a small voice.

“Good morning.”

He nodded at her and watched as she journeyed across the miles between them to sit on a stool in front of him. He stayed silent, continuing to cook.

“Have you been here for very long?” she asked. She hadn’t heard him when he arrived. Obviously, he had let her sleep instead of waking her. That was a good decision. The thought of Malfoy standing over her and shaking her shoulder to wake her made her shudder.

“Only about 30 minutes.”

“Oh, okay.”

Her eyes flickered throughout the room, shifting from his face to her peeling cuticles turning bloody from an ugly combination of teeth and anxious fingers.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Fine.”

It was a lie. After her strange dream about Ron, she had stayed up half the night debating and recounting the images in her head. She had gotten maybe an hour and a half of sleep.

He narrowed his eyes and frowned at her, forcing her to come to the unsettling realisation that just because she couldn’t read him didn’t mean the same applied to him. He’d had much longer than she had to become fluent in speaking Hermione.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “That’s... good.”

She looked back down at her fingers, finding a piece of skin to pull on, and all was silent apart from the sizzling coming from his pan.

She could feel him staring at her, but didn’t let herself look up. Instead, she saw his fingers, which had resumed their tapping.

“This is fucking awkward,” Malfoy said, drawing out a surprised a laugh from her. He quirked his lip. “I’m not used to things being awkward with you.”

“I guess I’m not used to that either,” she admitted. “Last time I remember us talking, I think I hexed you, or maybe you hexed me. That at least wasn’t awkward.”

He laughed, genuinely at that. The noise sounded weird coming from his mouth.

“At least we finally have something in common.” He floated her breakfast onto a plate and dropped it in front of her. “Eat up.”

She wasn’t particularly hungry, but she grabbed a piece of bacon to nibble on. He handed her a cup of tea made the exact way she wanted, and sat next to her.

While they ate quietly, Hermione stole glances at him and tried to figure out what his mood was.

“Are you still mad at me?” she asked.

He paused and set down his fork. “I was never angry at you. That’s like being angry at a sick person for vomiting. I guess I was mad that I can’t be mad. You’re not the same Hermione I’m used to, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to take it out on you.”

“I still knew what a betrayal it was,” she muttered under her breath.

“Are you trying to keep me angry?” He scoffed. “This may come as a surprise, but I don’t particularly like being mad at you.” He put the rest of his bacon on her plate when she finished what she had. “Besides, in your mind you’re still with the prick.”

“I’m not. I don’t think I’m still with him. He hadn’t explained everything to me when we — well, you know what we did— he described it like it was all my fault.”

“That makes me like you a lot more, and hate him more than I thought possible.” He reached over to spear a sausage from her plate. He chewed thoughtfully, stealing glances at her every few moments.

It hadn’t escaped her notice how often he seemed to eat off of her plate or move some of his food onto hers. It was an unconscious dance he did. He knew exactly what she wanted before she had the right mind to voice it herself.

Those were the moments that convinced her their relationship wasn’t an elaborate joke. Things like how she preferred her tea or giving her food from his plate when she ran out, it showed her they had some sort of history together. Even if she couldn’t remember, it had happened.

Malfoy swallowed and sat down his fork. “I think I’m ready to officially forgive you.” His eyebrows lifted. “I mean, if you get your memory back tomorrow, all bets are off, and we’ll have a giant fight which will end with makeup sex—uh I mean...”

Her cheeks heated. His face pinked as well.

“Sorry. I was trying to make a stupid joke.”

“No, it’s okay. This is weird.”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” he said.

They quieted. The only sounds that she heard were the ones of chewing.

She pointedly did not think about any make-up sex they’d had in the past. She didn’t think about any sort of sexual act she had performed with him. No, she thought about nothing at all except the taste of the bacon on her tongue.

The silence continued.

What did they normally talk about? Did they like silence or were they often overflowing with thoughts?

She pushed her plate away, feeling too nauseous to eat any more. He noticed almost immediately and waved his wand to clean both of their dishes.

“What are you doing all day?”

“Well—I was planning to…” He stretched his neck, looking like he wanted to find the right words. “I have the day off. Theo is going to catch up on paperwork, and I thought maybe we could… spend some time together? Get to know one another?”

He phrased his questions like casual suggestions, but it was easy to tell that he was fighting for any sense of control. If she were being honest, she’d prefer some alone time. But his pink cheeks and nervous expression that made her say something foolish.

“That could be… okay,” she said. He let out a breath. “What do we normally do on a free day?”

With her agreement, his confident mask returned, and he looked at her with a haughty expression. “When you actually give yourself a day off, a miracle in and of itself, we usually read together, or watch a muggle movie. Usually Blaise or Theo come to interrupt and pester us. I’ve asked them to stay away, at least until you’re ready to see them again.”

There wasn’t any possibility that she’d want to see Malfoy’s friends, but she nodded at him anyway.

“I think a movie might be nice,” she said with a shrug. Preferably they could sit silently on opposite ends from the room until it was reasonably late enough for her to ask him to leave her alone.

She took a seat in the living room and tapped her foot in an even rhythm. Malfoy followed behind her and paused, his eyes flickering between her and the television.

“Could you—I-I don’t really know how to turn the thing on,” he said, “I’m pretty sure muggle technology hates me. You don’t let me touch it since I break them a lot.”

She gave an awkward laugh and stood to walk to the television. “Any preference on what you’d like to watch?”

He shook his head and moved to the armchair. She held in her sigh at his prevention of what would have been an awkward conversation about deciding what an appropriate distance between them was.

She walked to the television, pausing in front of all the pictures that stared back at her. Like the Potter’s, Malfoy and she seemed obsessed with documenting all parts of their life, the mundane and special alike.

She hadn’t inspected it the night before, but she did now.

The first picture that caught her attention was of her and Theodore Nott. In the pictures they looked down at a cauldron in front of them. She looked to be making a joke to him, and poked his stomach. He laughed in response, before he looked up at the camera before he wiped off his expression and stared around with a look of boredom.

The next was of Malfoy and Blaise Zabini floating upside down on broomsticks. Hermione was there and yelled at them to get off, presumably before they broke their neck.

There were so many more pictures. One of her and Nott reading a magazine about charms, another of Pansy Parkinson helping her put on mascara, Zabini and her hunched over a wizard’s chess board, both of them trash talking.

Her heart dropped when her eyes landed on a picture of her and Malfoy. They waved at a picture, and then, like they assumed no one watched them, they relaxed their smiles.

A quick, almost painful, shock rushed through her as she stared at the moving picture. Malfoy tilted her chin up so he could press his lips against hers.

The adoration in his eyes isn’t what bothered her. She’d seen plenty of those looks directed at her in the hospital. His admiration for her was disconcerting, but not unfathomable.

It wasn’t even the kiss shared between them. Hermione knew they had to have some sort of physical relationship. Knowing something and seeing something were two different things, but she could understand in an abstract concept that she and Malfoy took part in physical intimacy.

It was the look on her face that caused the nausea. Her expression was awe-inspiring. It captured her attention and refused to let go.

It reminded her of a picture her mum took after fifth year. Hermione was leaning over a table staring at her examination results, specifically all the Os she received. WHen her mum showed her the photograph she couldn’t look away.

Hermione always worked hard in her life; she had always strived for greatness. The picture showed an excited 16-year-old relishing the sensation of success and pride of knowing that she deserved what she worked for.

That was how she looked at Malfoy. It was more than just love, though she had plenty of that. It was as if she knew how much she deserved him. She seemed proud of them for making the choice to love each other. She looked like she knew that this specific form of happiness belonged to her and her alone.

They’d been together for less than a year, and she still looked at him with that much admiration.

There were pictures of them in fancier clothes and prettier backdrops, but she could tell why they put such a picture in a prominent location. They looked radiant. It was an impossible past, too far to reach and too distant to imagine. 

The spacious living room suddenly felt constricted. The walls closed in on her and left her suffocating from the crushing surroundings. The pillows, potted plants, and pretty paintings that had comforted her when she first saw them now taunted her in its perfection. Everything she looked at was another reminder of what she couldn’t remember.

“Oh,” Malfoy said, following her gaze. “I should have moved the pictures.”

He stood and reached for the picture, but she held an arm up to stop him.

“No, it’s fine. You didn’t know I was coming yesterday. It’s not like you’d be expected to clean all this up. I don’t deserve any of that.” She blinked at the bitterness in her voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound upset.”

Malfoy hesitated in front of her. “You don’t have to apologise to me.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re handling this better than I ever could. I just wish—nevermind.”

“No, tell me.”

“I know I can’t go through what you’re going through, and I have no idea what you’re feeling. But it seems like every time you’ve had a crisis or revelation you pull away for me. If I can’t go through this for you, then please let me take some of the weight from you. Lean on me.”

“I don’t know how to,” she whispered. She found her courage building rapidly. “I don’t know how to lean on you, and even if I did, well — I’m sorry, I don’t think I’d want to. There’s an insane amount of pressure between us. I’m sure we dated or whatever, but that was under those specific circumstances. We fell for each other at the same time. I don’t know if I can love someone already in love with me.”

Her words tumbled out of her in a panicked rush. She had bottled up her feelings for far too long, and she didn’t think she could hold it inside any longer. Malfoy let her speak as his mouth twisted into a frown.

“I don’t want to break up. I want to trust this person and who she chose.”

She grabbed the picture of her and Malfoy. She shoved it in his face, but he hardly gave it a second glance, leaving his eyes locked onto her face.

“This girl seems crazy to me! Absolutely fucking insane. I don’t know who she is. Everytime I think of how we ended here I want to lose my mind. When you do something sweet, or lovely, like making me an entire bloody breakfast, I start to consider making things work between us. Then I’m reminded exactly how much of a disadvantage I’m at.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t care. She had to keep going. The words and deep fears she had been suppressing since she woke up confused in a hospital bed needed to pour out of her.

“I don’t know all these little things about you. I don’t know what your favourite foods are, or how you prefer your tea. I don’t know what an eyebrow raise means or how to tell if you’re upset at me. And you know all of this about me! I hate it. I absolutely despise not knowing these answers. I’m two steps behind you at all times.”

She started to cry. She was stuck between the desire to run away and sort through everything alone, or throw all of her thoughts at Malfoy in the hopes he’d find the answer that would make it all better. If he could fix it, this wouldn’t be a problem.

She looked at him and cried harder. He stood paralyzed to the spot. The only movement coming from his stilled form were his eyes hopelessly searching her face.

“And I know this isn’t fair to you,” she continued. “I know that! You woke up one day with everything you thought you knew gone. I feel so stupid and cruel that I can’t get over this. I wish I could just—accept all of this. But I don’t know if I can do that.”

The gaps in her knowledge were mental hurdles that she wasn’t tall enough, fast enough to jump over. She stumbled over nothing but a history she couldn’t forget, and a future she couldn’t remember.

“Part of me wants to get it over with and leave you. It seems inevitable.” Malfoy flinched. If she was already driving the stake into his heart, she may as well be thorough. Her evil brain kept speaking, taking over her mouth before she could convince herself to stop. “I could leave everything and everyone, and figure this out myself. I want to wake up and have it all be a dream. I hate this. I really, really, hate this.”

 She kept repeating the words until the sob that had been threatening to escape finally heaved in her chest. She sunk to the ground; her knees thudded against the carpet.

She sobbed. Her mouth opened and she released inarticulate cries. Her chest physically burned her, and she tried to pull the pain out of her chest. The noises she made echoed throughout the room, despite her best attempts to contain them.

She cried for an ex-boyfriend that felt abandoned and chose something unforgivable.

She cried for Harry, desperate for happiness for his best friend, but doing the worst things to find him peace.

She cried for Ginny, torn in two directions by her husband and best friend.

She cried for Draco Malfoy, forced to love a girl who no longer felt the same about him.

Lastly, she cried for herself, both past and present.

The world had dealt her many horrible hands in life. As a child soldier, forced to sacrifice the relationship she had with her parents in order to assure their safety. Then, when all the dust had settled, the people she had gone through hell with had abandoned her over a choice she didn’t really make.

As a woman, she seemed to finally grab and hold on to a love that showed her she deserved happiness. Then fate came and ripped it all away, all the while dangling it in front of her like a prize out of reach.

She wished she hadn’t looked at Malfoy’s face. He was destroyed as he stared down at her fragmented form. His hand floated in the air as he reached towards her, but refused to make contact.

She could imagine what she looked like to him. His crazy girlfriend, wrapped in a ball with snot pouring from her nose, and tears soaking her splotchy cheeks, talking about how she wished she could just leave him.

After a moment their eyes connected, and he rushed forward to kneel in front of her. The space between them was impossible to bridge.

“Tell me what to do. Tell me what you need from me,” he begged; his voice was raw. “I’ll do it. I swear, I’ll do it. Just don’t—” a swallow, a shaking breath, “please don’t leave me. Not yet. Let me try. Give me a chance.”

Hermione stared at him for what felt like an eternity. His face, so familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. She took in his powerful jaw, prominent nose, and powerful eyes that stared at her with an urgency she had never seen directed at her.

He looked like an innocent man waiting for the judge to read him his sentence, while still trying to convince the jury of the truth.

Finally, she nodded, unable to speak the words.

His shoulders sagged as all the breath left his chest. His hands engulfed hers as he squeezed them to his chest. They remained like that, both breathing in the other’s air with shaking breaths and nervous glances. They didn’t want to let go, but neither seemed to know the best way to hold on.

“So, how about this?” Malfoy stood and wiped his face to clear the few tears that had fallen. He reached over to her and extended a hand. She looked at it in confusion.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. My name is Draco Malfoy. It’s nice to meet you.” She huffed out a surprised laugh.

“Hermione Granger. A pleasure.”

She shook his hand.

Chapter Text

Hermione paused her emotional breakdown by taking a moment to herself in the bathroom. Once she washed her face, blew her nose until she rubbed it raw, and finished another crying session, she returned to Malfoy.

They started by discussing ground rules first. It was the only way Hermione believed that their fragile relationship would survive. Malfoy suggested they make a list of guidelines to officially clarify everything.

He handed her some parchment and a muggle pen he claimed was her favourite and they got to work.

She looked down at the empty sheet, an open invitation for any sort of guideline she could come up with. With the way he looked at her sometime, she imagined she could ask him to always bounce on one leg when he was around her and he’d comply.

But that wasn’t what she needed. She needed clear protocols that were simple to follow, rules that would help them get to know each other. But what exactly was the right way to phrase it.

She sighed. “Malfoy, I don’t know where to start.”

He opened his mouth to respond, before snapping it shut. His brow furrowed.

“Say it, I won’t get mad,” she said.

“Can you call me by my name? Every time you call me Malfoy…” He paused. “Well, I don’t like it very much. I worked for years to get you to call me Draco, and I don’t want all that to feel like wasted time. Besides, we’re starting fresh, right? Maybe it’s time to call each other by our given names.”

“Oh, I didn’t even realise I did that. I’m sorry I’m just so used to—”

“It’s okay,” Draco interrupted with an uncomfortable smile. “We’re starting over, it doesn’t matter.”

She wrote down in her messy scrawl their first rule of the night: 1. We will only call each other by our first names.

“And what does starting over mean to you?” She chewed on her lip when she took a moment to think of his answer.

“I think we should be friends,” he said. His eyes were on hers, gauging her reaction. When she nodded and breathed a sigh of relief, he smiled. The expression was as familiar as it was unfamiliar. She liked the change. “It doesn’t make sense for either of us to jump back into a relationship again. You obviously need to get to know me, and I need to be reminded of who you were all those years ago before I... corrupted you.”

He focused his eyes on the pen she twirled in her fingers. His consonants became crisp and precise when he spoke again.

“I do have one thing to add, and since we’re just friends, I guess I don’t really have a say over this. So, obviously, you don’t have to agree. But I would prefer if we… remained monogamous friends. I will, erm—be remaining that way.”

“I think I can manage that.”

She ignored his quiet “Thank Merlin,” and wrote: 2. Friends without any sort of benefits.

Draco looked over her shoulder to watch her write, and muttered, “Funny.”

“I know what number three should be,” he said, grabbing the pen out of her hand. “I’m going to stay at Theo’s until we both decide otherwise.” Hermione began to protest, but he interrupted her. “Friends rarely live with each other. Especially not as they get to know each other. You need some space to be alone. I know myself pretty well, and I think I know you better. If I stay here, I’ll hover and that will annoy the hell out of you.”

She considered his point, and while she felt guilty kicking him out of his home, there was also some relief at having time to sort through her new life alone.

“I can see your brain struggling with this. Don’t worry about me. Theo’s all alone in that huge manor. He needs someone to keep him sane.”

He pressed the tip of the pen to the parchment, looking up at her to get final approval before he wrote in his neat cursive: 3. Draco is forcibly kicked out of his home.

“Oh, it looks like you have jokes too,” she said, and he smirked at the page. “Since I’ve kicked you out of your home, how often am I going to see you? Is it only going to be every once in a while like most friends?”

He looked scandalised as he lifted his hand to place on his heart. “Hermione Granger, I will let you know that I have friends I see every single day. That’s mostly Theo because we work together, but the point still stands.”

“Okay, how about”—she reached forward to snatch the pen out of Draco’s unsuspecting hand—“for dinner. At dinner, we can talk and… I don’t know, hang out? Merlin, it sounds like I’m in fourth year again.”

He laughed. “Dinner sounds great.”

So, she wrote on the paper: 4. Draco will come to dinner each night for eating, talking, and hanging out.

That began a pattern between the two of them. They debated which rule deserved a spot on their list and what would only make it too complicated. When a trickier topic was brought up, they both debated the pros and cons of what the rule should be.

Draco was clear about his desires to be kept up to date with anything related to her health and memory.

“I’m just going to worry if I think there are things you’re not telling me,” he said. “For the sake of my sanity, can we add it to the list?”

He also requested for her to not come up with loopholes or ways around their list. She couldn’t help the little indignant ruffled feathers from that rule.

“You’re too smart for your own good. If you think a rule would apply to something, then listen to the rule,” he said with a smirk.

“Okay, okay,” she relented, “I promise I won’t try to trick the list. But that brings up a good point, if we ever think something should change on the list, we should…” she trailed off. “What do you think?”

“We can talk to each other and come up with a compromise.”

She scribbled that onto the paper.

“I know what number 9 should be.” She already began to write it down.

“Do I not get a say in this one?” he teased, leaning over so he could see what she wrote.

9. We will work through this together as a team by being truthful and respectful.

He was quiet as he read it. Earlier, she would have sworn that he was closed off with his emotions and expressions. But, as he looked at her through open eyes, they were clear as glass. She could see every single emotion flicker through them: hope, excitement, trepidation. Every single feeling danced in his pupils.

His voice was heavy when he spoke again. “I like that one.”

They ended with 9 things on their list. Some were written in Draco’s elegant penmanship, others in Hermione’s jerky script. Some had addendums or clarifications written under them. Some were serious, others silly.

“Well, that seems to be it. Can you think of anything else to add?” she asked through her yawn. She looked through the window to see that the sun had long since set. After the day that she had, her bed was whispering her name.

“I have nothing else. I’ll tell you if I can think of anything else, but I think we’ve made some excellent progress tonight,” Draco said.

The corner of his mouth lifted as he reached his hand out to rub the inside of her thigh. In a moment that lasted too long, they both stared at his hand squeezing skin that she couldn’t remember him ever touching.

He quickly retracted it, his eyes widening when he realised what he did.

She stared down at the place his hand left, surprised it didn’t leave a scorching mark from the heat of his skin.

“I—sorry, force of habit.”

“It seems we forgot something else on the list.” Hermione grabbed the pen again. “I don’t want to feel embarrassed every time you accidentally try to touch me. And you’re used to touching me. And that’s… okay, but for now we should establish which physical touches are acceptable.”

Draco smirked. “Well, I think that’s one area where you should set the guidelines. I’ll gladly follow your lead on that.”

“Hmm,” Hermione pondered, tapping the pen to her lips. What was she comfortable with? “I think for now maybe we can restrict our touches to what you’re allowed to do with a family member.”

Draco visibly recoiled.

“Sorry, I know we’re just friends,” he emphasised, “but I don’t want to think of you as a blood relative... ever.”

“I thought you were a pureblood? Don’t you—”

“I don’t even want you to finish that statement. Fuck.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m kidding. That’s all too weird. How about...” She trailed off, her mind running through someone the possibilities of someone who could work for an analogy. “Pansy Parkinson! I saw her in a picture, we’re friends with her right?”

His laugh was booming. “Oh, that’s rich. I would rather snog Theo than do anything romantic with Pansy.”

“Didn’t you two date?”

“Oh, please don’t remind me. We agreed long ago to never talk about our momentary lapses in judgement.”

Hermione laughed at his shudder.

“If she finds out that we talked about her this way she’ll murder us.” Draco laughed, then paused. “Okay murder me, she’d probably leave you alive after giving you the silent treatment for 30 minutes.”

“Why me?” Hermione questioned.

“She loves you, almost as much as I love you.” His laughter faded before he recovered himself. “As a friend of course.”

“Of course.” The smile stayed on her face. Earlier that comment probably would have sent her spiralling. This time she actively made the choice to be okay with it. “Well, I think we have our last item for the list.”

10: Draco is only allowed to do to Hermione what he would do to Pansy Parkinson.

She was in such a good mood she didn’t bother protesting his addendum to number 10.

Hermione and Draco’s List of Rules and Guidelines: Note: Must be Followed at ALL TIMES!

1. We Will Only Call Each Other By Our First Names.

2. Friends without any sort of benefits.

3. Draco is kicked out of his home.

4. Draco will come to dinner each night for eating, talking, and hanging out. He will leave as soon as Hermione asks him, with no pressure to stay longer than she wants him to.

5. Draco will get at least 10 uninterrupted minutes of Crookshanks time each night to make sure his favourite cat doesn’t forget his 2nd favourite human.

6. Hermione will communicate to Draco immediately if she is having any sort of head pain, memory changes, or if she needs to go to St. Mungos.

7. We will not purposefully attempt to find loopholes or to bend the rules that are written here.

8. We will talk to each other if we have a problem or concern with something that is or is not on the list.

9. We will work through this together as a team by being truthful and respectful.

10. Draco is only allowed to do to Hermione what he would do to Pansy Parkinson. Hermione is under no such rule and is allowed to do anything she wants to, with, or on top of Draco.

He summoned a picture frame that would fit The List. Together they hung it above the television in the room. They stared at it for a few moments with a smile.

Things weren’t perfect. They weren’t even good. But now, with this small bit of compromise from both of them, things were manageable. Sometimes that’s all that one could ask for.

“Okay, if everything is good between us, I’ll be at Theo’s. Our floos are connected so if you need me...” Draco reached down to grab a fistful of floor powder.

“Wait!” she exclaimed.

“The powder floated to the floor as he stared at her in surprise. She moved to stand in front of him in a rush and wrapped her arms around his neck for a hug.

He didn’t respond immediately, either out of surprise or fear of scaring her off, she wasn’t sure.

But then he relaxed. An audible sigh released from him as his fingers tangled in her hair.

A hug shouldn’t have felt that comfortable, not when there were so many factors working against it. Draco was tall, much taller than her. She had to strain her body, her neck upwards. His back was hunched over so he could circle his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

There was an unfamiliarity she felt him that should have made their contact uncomfortable. The stress she had felt since she’d woken up with Draco staring down at her, should have been too heavy for her to enjoy something physical.

Yet, a deep part of her brain hummed in pleasure with the sensation of his careful breathing.

There were plenty of messages she didn’t have the words to say to him. So many words she couldn’t find in her broken brain, but she hoped, through touch alone, that he could understand everything— her fear, uncertainty, doubt, along with the hope for something to become more positive out of all the wreckage.

She didn’t know what the future held for them. If things would turn out correctly. But right now, Hermione felt like a phoenix. She stood in the fiery ashes of her past, and maybe one day, her and Draco, could regenerate out of the wreckage. 

They pulled apart after seconds, minutes, possibly hours. She didn’t know; time didn’t make sense when it came to Draco.

“I don’t hug Parkinson like that every day, that’s for sure.” He laughed as his fingers carefully untangled from her curls. His arms slowly unwrapped from her until they dangled at his side. “What was that for?”

“A thank you. It’s probably not fun dealing with the crazy girl who yells at you and then makes you spend the rest of your evening writing a list. So, thanks.”

“I do happen to enjoy your company. A lot. Freakouts and crazy list-making included.” He reached back down for the floor powder. “Any other sorts of affection you’d like to give me before I leave? Maybe a kiss to cement our friendship with?”

She rolled her eyes at him. He looked at her seriously before he left. “If you need anything, come get me.”

She nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated with a smile.

She fell asleep almost as soon as she hit her bed.

She felt a laugh escape her as she watched Ron fight to untangle the fishing line. He used his hand to throw it back into the pond. He tilted his head as he watched the lure float on top of the water. Then he looked back at her for approval.

Hermione shrugged, shutting her eyes. The air was bright and fresh as she leaned back to absorb the sun.

It had been a mutual decision of their to experience nature on their trip. They had camped together before, of course, but they thought it could be more fun when they weren’t hunted by crazy psychopaths who wanted to kill them.

It turns out there were a lot more bugs than either of them expected there to be.

After waiting a few minutes, Ron looked down at her with a furrowed brow. “I don’t think I’m doing this right.”

She opened her eyes to watch him try to reel the line back in. His hook was void of all fish.

“You have to wait. The fish aren’t going to immediately bite. Time for you to practice your patience.” She laughed.

He snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I’m known for. My perfect patience.”

“Well, I love you, impatience and all.”

She grinned up at him. Her joy radiated off of her as intensely as the sun beat down on them.

Ron tried to suppress his smile, looking down at the fishing line bashfully. “Why can’t I use magic for this?”

“The same reason why you’re not going to the store to buy the fish. It’s all about the experience.” She pushed herself up so she could stand next to him. She looked him up and down. “I think you’re doing it right. That’s what the book said at least.”

“You’re probably much better at this than I am. Why don’t you do it?” He shoved the pole in her hands without waiting for her response. He reached for his wand to he could summon drinks for them.

She looked over at him, then began laughing as she saw what he was doing. “I’m not sure how nature-friendly wine is.”

“It’s what you want to drink, isn’t it?” He handed the glass to her. She took a sip of the white wine, nodding to herself at the sweet taste.

She sipped on it, watching the lure float in the water.

“This is really boring.”

“I told you! How about we give this up for today?” Ron patted the spot next to him for her to sit. Both of their legs dangled off the pier. They leaned on each other, staring off into the horizon.

“We should make a toast,” she said with a nod.

“A toast?”

“To us.”

He summoned another glass of wine for him to drink as well. “What would you like to say about us?”

“Hmmm,” she tapped her lips for a second as she stared into his eyes. She lifted her glass up. “To three wonderful years.”

“And to many more,” he agreed as he tapped his glass against hers.

He put an arm around her waist so he could drag her closer to him. “We’re going to be okay. You know that, right?”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I know. We’ve just got some things to figure out, but we’ll make it. We’re meant to be.”

“Because we’re worth it. Right?”

“Right.” She leaned over to kiss his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

They both sat in the moment for a little while longer. Their joy punctuated by careful sips from cheap wine and stolen glances.

Eventually, once they sustained too many bug bites to consider staying on the pier any longer, Ron stood.

“Want to see my surprise for you?” he said.

“What? I thought we said no gifts.”

“It’s a gift for both of us I swear.” He held his hands out in defence as she turned to glare at him.

She reached up to grab the hand he offered. “Ronald Weasley, if you got me some super extravagant thing—”

“Just close your eyes.”

With only a few protests from her, her eyes reluctantly shut. Then he put a blindfold over her eyes.

“Is this necessary?”

“I know you’d try to peek.” He leaned in close so he could whisper in her ear. “It’s too far to walk so I’ll apparate us there.”

With the familiar tug on her navel, he plopped her in an unfamiliar location. “Okay, are you ready?” he asked.

His excitement was heavy, filling the air around her. It made her mirror him and match his giddiness. 

“Absolutely.”

He reached up to pull down her blindfold. She found herself in front of a log cabin. Ron was staring at her cautiously.

“Okay, I know you were set on camping, but c’mon, Mione. I have many plans for you tonight and they don’t involve us rolling around in a tent that can barely fit the two of us.”

“This is so thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Want to explore the cabin?” His smile grew even wider. He grabbed her hand and placed a kiss on it.

“Yes!” She swung his hand between them as he led her through the front door. Her eyes scanned the entire room. “I can’t believe you picked this place. It’s beautiful.”

A lit fireplace crackled in the corner of the room. It bathed the rustic furniture in a soft glow.

“I know it’s beautiful. Do you know what’s even more beautiful than this?” He dropped her hand and moved his hand to the small of her back. His fingertips maintained a light pressure on her as he urged her forward. “The bedroom.”

She giggled. “I thought you wanted to explore the cabin.”

Her neck appeared to have become very interesting to Ron’s lips as he kept pushing her forward.

His voice was low when he spoke. “I think there’s some other exploring that will be a lot more fun.”

She rolled her eyes but assented to letting him push her onto the bed. His body hovered over hers as he stared at her. His eyes soft and searching.

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?”

The compliment had her blushing. She searched for a distraction from the attention he provided her. She kissed him.

Eventually, the sweet kisses and gentle touches faded when his hands began exploring.

Deft hands removed both of their clothes. Both of them whimpered when they brushed each other’s bare skin.

She whimpered, totally lost in the sensations of Ron’s talented fingers, when she heard the distant sound of her phone ringing. Like a bucket of water thrown on a sleeping person, she broke from her reverie.

She scrambled off of him as she raced towards her phone. “Seriously?” Ron said, adjusting his trousers.

“I’m sorry, I just need to see who it—” She tapped her wand on the phone. Her heart dropped. “It’s Theo. I have to take this.”

Ron fell back on the bed with a groan.

Theo spoke with an urgency she was unfamiliar with as she answered the call. “Granger, you need to come back.”

“What? Why?”

“Shacklebolt is thinking about ending your funding for the green project.”

“Wait no. He can’t do that. Our proposal specifically stated—” She walked around the room as she began collecting her discarded clothes.

“Hermione,” Ron said. She held up her hand to quiet him.

“Yes. I know that. Malfoy knows that. But Shacklebolt won’t listen to us, you know that.”

“He can’t—”

“He will. Unless you come back.”

“But I—” She looked at Ron before she shook her head, “Okay, fine. Give me five minutes.”

Theo hung up without a goodbye.

She turned around to see Ron staring at the floor, his lips pulled together in a straight line.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be right back I swear.”

“It’s our anniversary,” he said, his voice void of expression, “Hermione, you can’t leave me on our anniversary.”

“I’ll be real quick. Kingsley is trying to— ”

“I don’t care what he’s doing. What I care about is the fact that my girlfriend is leaving me for her stupid job. Again.”

Her body tensed, the familiar warning signs of the common fight between them making themselves known. She thought they’d be able to get through a singular weekend without repeating the common talking points between them.

“My job is important.”

“But it seems our relationship isn’t.” He was fixated on the same spot on the floor, his thumb tapping a harsh rhythm against his bare thigh.

“Of course our relationship is important.”

“No, it’s not. At least not for you. If it was, you’d stay with me on our fucking anniversary.”

“Ron, you’re not being fair.”

He looked up at her, his eyes sharp as he scowled at her. He ran a hand through his hair.

“For once in your life, could you put me first? Just once?” His voice begged her with desperation as he reached for her. She shuffled out of his grasp.

“I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” she said as she finished buttoning her pants. He scoffed as she began searching for her bra. “You know what? I will not apologise for having a job that needs me. You knew it would be hard for me to completely get away on a Friday.”

His body had grown still. “You can’t seriously be making this out to be my fault.”

“I’m not trying to — ”

“Because to me it looks like, once again you’re going off to play with your little boyfriends up there —”

“That’s not fair. They’re my coworkers. I told you how important this proposal is.”

“It’s always some important proposal, isn’t it,” he sneered.

“It’s my job to care about what I do.”

His hands flew up in the air. “I’m so glad our entire lives can revolve around how awesome and successful you are. Do you know how I know how important your job is? Because you never stop talking about it.”

She had found her bra in the corner and put it on under her shirt. His voice kept growing in its vitriol as he monologued from his place on the bed, away from her.

“Look at the Golden Girl changing society one day at a time,” he mocked. “Oh, look, there’s her stupid, pathetic boyfriend just hoping to get some of the marvellous glory that falls off of her.’”

“Ron! You know that’s not true.”

He watched her with a hopeless expression as she pulled her hair into a sensible bun.

“I’ll never understand how you’re able to keep doing this to me. It’s like you’re inventing new ways to make me feel pathetic.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She tried to quiet the ache in her heart.

“I’ll be quick, I just need 30 minutes to talk to the minister.” She leaned towards him for a kiss, but he turned away. Her lips fell on a clenched jaw.

“I’m sorry,” she said through the lump in her throat as she apparated away.

Chapter Text

Hermione woke to the continuous feeling of purring. She scratched Crookshanks on his head and marvelled at how familiar that felt. The small sense of normalcy was novel, but she could learn to cherish the minor victories such as Crookshanks refusing to respect any personal space.

She absentmindedly scratched Crookshanks behind his ears as she considered her dream. The strangely vivid dreams had started to become a regular occurrence. She’d never been someone who had remarkable dreams, but there she was, going over a moment in time, real or imaginary, that her subconscious had given her about Ron.

A part of her wondered if her memories were returning, but why would they come back one by one? Wouldn’t it make more sense for all of them to come back at once? But they seemed too real to not be—well, real.

Her dreams seemed designed to make her feel guilty about things she didn’t remember doing.

She needed to write to her healer. Maybe these dreams or memories or whatever they would be called were  the key to finding the right treatment for her, or maybe she’d get another nondescript answer saying ‘hopefully things will get better.’

Regardless, she needed an expert’s opinion. So, she wrote a quick letter to Healer Morgan.

Around the time she moved to send the letter off, she noticed an owl tapping on the door. Her eyes widened when she saw a letter addressed to her in Ginny’s handwriting. She wasn’t sure which feeling was more uncomfortable: the sound of her heart beating in her ears, or her stomach dropping to the floor.

Hermione,

I’m sorry about everything that happened. I think seeing you again brought up many unresolved feelings in everyone. Perhaps I could have done a better job of explaining things or separating everyone when emotions ran high. I’m not sure.

I don’t want to make excuses for Harry’s words, but I feel as if I must. He’s still hurt with how everything happened all of those years ago. He assumed he’d found a simple way to bridge the gap between you three, but was blind to how you would have felt about everything. His words were inexcusable, but I hope you find some comfort in knowing the reasoning behind it.

I was sincere when I said that we all missed you. Harry still misses you, but over the past few years, Ron became his priority. He needed all the people on his side that he could, and it had always seemed like you had enough people rooting for you with Malfoy and his group.

Speaking of Malfoy, I hope things are going okay with you two. I’m sure the guy missed you a lot. I sincerely hope things get back to normal with him soon.

Maybe one day we can try to find some sort of reconciliation between our families. I hope to come visit as soon as everything calms down over here. Write me if you want to talk or if you need me sooner. I love you so much Hermione, and I’m sorry.

Love,

Ginny Potter

She stared at the letter, contemplating what sorts of messages it was supposed to send. What sort of response did it warrant from her? It seemed like she was drawing a clear line in the sand saying: I’m sorry, but not sorry enough to completely take your side.

She couldn’t fault her for the message, but she also didn’t fault her own reaction to it either.

Ginny,

Thank you for reaching out to me. I’m sorry about everything as well. I think some space may do all of us good right now. Maybe we can schedule a meet-up soon.

Thanks, Hermione

She sent the letter off without a second thought. She couldn’t think of anything else that was worth saying. It would be hard to put anything else about how she was feeling when she wasn’t even sure.

In what felt like the first bit of alone time in months, she used all of her time to snoop. She wanted information, anything and everything she could find. So, she dug through her and Draco’s things to get as much information as possible.

She started by rifling through the dresser drawers. It was fairly easy to see which part of the room was whose. She had never been one to be very organised, and Draco’s side was the exact opposite. Everything from his pants to his socks were sorted by colour.

Digging through his belongings, her mind ended up going down an entirely inappropriate line of thinking when she found a drawer that contained boxer briefs. She didn’t realise that was his style, but that only forced her to imagine him in it. A delightful fantasy that she had to shake herself out of. Then she shook herself for shaking herself. A girl could fantasise about a… friend right?

She tried not to disturb what looked like meticulous organisation as she dug through his clothes. He only owned a few tees, and the ones that he did made Hermione feel as if he wasn’t the one who would willingly buy them for himself. He had muggle concert tees, cheese souvenir t-shirts from different countries, and a few other casual items.

Her side of the dresser was the complete opposite of Draco’s. There didn’t seem to be any sort of logical organisation for her clothes. There was an overabundance of everything and only about half of her tops were folded. The rest was placed wherever she could make room.

A similar pattern seemed to emerge when she walked into her closet. She ran a hand along his side as she touched some of his dress robes and muggle suit jackets. Her side was more casual. She had a couple of skirts and blouses, most in dark colours. They all looked like something that she would wear to work.

Again, Draco’s side was colour-coordinated, and Hermione’s seemed to have clothes hung up wherever she felt like someone would fit.

“Well, at least I haven’t changed that much,” she said to the cat that had followed her into the closet.

Crookshanks, ever the conversation partner, didn’t respond, focusing all his attention on the piece of string he found.

Feeling satisfied that she had learned all she could from the bedroom, she went about the house. There were four guest rooms, all empty of anything of note. Everything seemed to show that this was a normal, albeit large, home.

Each time she went to a different room, she cautiously checked for skeletons in the closets, both figuratively and literally. Each time her investigations came up empty had Hermione teetering closer to the edge of a breakdown.

If she thought about everything for too long, the craziness of it all illuminated itself to her. Each time she remembered she was dating Draco Malfoy, she walked towards falling into her pit of hysterical freak-outs. The idea of sharing a home with Draco Malfoy was another step. Knowing she slept with Draco Malfoy, had her wobbling right on the precipice of the side of a cliff.

But before she fell she’d steady herself and take a deep breath. He wasn’t Draco Malfoy, the boy she’d fought with. He was just Draco, the man who wanted to get to know her. Her friend.

Sure, her coping strategy might consist purely of cognitive dissonance, but it helped her survive.

She had just calmed herself down, when she stumbled into her favourite room of the house. 

With her first glance, she had assumed it was an office, but on her second, her mouth dropped open. An office wasn’t anywhere grand enough to capture what the room was. There were, literally, thousands of books. It was a library, a glorious, beautiful library. The poor books seemed to have been shoved into a library 1/10th the size of what they deserved.

It was a cruel joke. A miserable idea of having a home with as many books as this, while she was told she couldn’t read them.

She floated around the room, her fingertips landing on certain books she wanted to read. She limited herself to one book at first,a textbook called “Magical Memory Maladies.”

It was too good. Too close to the things that she needed to figure out. She pulled it down, putting her snooping to an immediate halt, and summoned a piece of parchment to take notes on.

Magical Traumatic Brain Injuries (mTBI):

mTBI is a type of nondegenerative acquired brain injury that results from a combination of two separate causes at the same time. For a patient to be diagnosed with an mTBI, they must simultaneously sustain physical injury from an external force (e.g. a fall or blast injury) and a magical influence. The physical injury provides the opportunity for the external magical source to invade the central nervous system and control the rate and degree of recovery from injury. Symptoms of an mTBI often included, but aren’t limited to: memory disturbances (pre- or post- traumatic amnesia), changes in levels of consciousness and unequal varying degrees of recovery. Individuals recovering from an mTBI will have difficulty finding an appropriate treatment due to the diverse forms of magical influences. For further information…

She closed the textbook. Even though she knew there wouldn’t be a simple, easy solution. She thought there might be something comforting she’d learn, instead of the opposite.

Even with just that small bit of information, her brain was already too overwhelmed and exhausted to keep reading. She groaned, and with nothing else to do, she made herself a cup of tea and stared out the window. It would be beneficial to stay as calm as possible before Draco came over that evening.

He said he’d come over after he finished work that day. It was strange to imagine him as someone who had a job. According to everyone she’d talked to about it, they worked together a lot.

She had been sipping on her lukewarm tea when she finally realised that her entire day had passed her by.

With some trepidation, she headed to the bedroom so she could get dressed. She stood in front of a closet for too long of a time to be normal. What exactly were the appropriate clothes for whatever it was she was doing with Draco that night.

A slight blush appeared on her face when she realised that she actually wanted to look nice. She attempted to put on some makeup, changed her clothes again when she wasn’t satisfied with the first outfit, tried to do anything to make her hair look manageable, and she was still left with plenty of time to wait for Draco in a nervous panic.

She paced in her kitchen while trying to assure herself of the non-serious nature of everything. It was just two friends having a meal together. She could pretend like everything was normal between the two of them. Maybe if she just imagined they were friends, everything would be fine.

Oh god, what could they possibly have to talk about?

They must be able to have decent conversations together. But that seemed impossible. She didn’t know the first thing about Draco, at least nothing that was particularly flattering about him. The concept of them sitting down together for an evening seemed so foreign.

She wished there was an instruction manual for whatever she was supposed to do.

At 6:00 pm exactly, she opened the door to see Draco leaned against the doorframe in a red jumper and black trousers. With a steadying breath, she motioned for him to come in.

“Sporting the Gryffindor colours, I see,” she teased as she motioned to his outfit. He rolled his eyes.

“Theo had a blast giving me this to wear for tonight. He said, ‘all my other coloured clothes are getting dry cleaned.’” Draco changed his voice so he could mock his friend. “He doesn’t even know what dry cleaning is. I drew the line at the gold scarf he was going to get me to wear. Besides, its burgundy, not red. I still have some house pride.”

“Why did he have to pick out your clothes?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t exactly take any clothes with me last night, so I had to rely on my ‘gracious’ host to clothe me.”

“Oh,” she mumbled. Not only did she kick him out of his home, but she was also the reason he didn’t have clothes.

“Hey.” He snapped his fingers, pulling her from her thoughts. “Stop that. No feeling guilty on my behalf. I’m a grown man. I make my own choices. I’ll just pack some clothes tonight. No big deal.”

“Okay, I’m just sorry that you—”

“Nuh-uh, sorry sounds too close to guilt,” he interrupted.

They stood in the empty foyer staring at each other, both waiting for some conversation topic to arise.

“I—uh, let me show you what I got for us to eat.” He motioned to the bag he was holding. He brushed past her and busied himself setting up the table. She followed him into the kitchen and took a cautious seat at the small table. The only noises in the room came from the quiet sounds of her tapping foot and plates pulled from cabinets.

Eventually, he placed a plate of pasta in front of her.

She twirled her fork in it to see what it was. Her heart dropped when she saw mussels and clam sprinkled throughout it. She absolutely hated seafood and had never stomached the stuff. She looked up to see him watching her with a smile.

“I’m not sure if this is something I’m going to like.” She tried not to shiver at the sound of a scallop dropping off of her fork and landing in the food with a wet pop.

“Just try it. If you don’t like it we can switch.” He motioned to his completely sensible plate of grilled chicken.

She frowned at the plate for a few moments before she finally lifted the food to her mouth with her eyes squeezed shut. Her grimace faded as she tasted it.

“This is bloody delicious,” she mumbled around her mouthful of food.

“I thought you might like that.”

“We’ve been to this place together before, haven’t we?” she asked once she had swallowed enough food to temporarily satisfy her craving for it.

“Once or twice.”

“And I like seafood now?”

“You have for a couple of years.”

She sighed loudly. Then she sighed again at herself for sighing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, noting her expression.

She tried to find a way to explain the feeling she had. The total disadvantage she felt at, the way he seemed to read her mind. 

“It’s just—crazy how much you know about me. I feel like I know next to nothing about you.”

“I hear the best way to learn about someone is by asking them. I’m an open book when it comes to you.”

It was decent logic. She supposed she had to get used to speaking with him, even if it was about things that were more difficult or awkward to bring up. 

Besides, he wasn’t Draco Malfoy, he was her friend. A stranger she wanted to get to know better.

“How did this,”—she motioned between the two of them—“come to happen.”

“Honestly, I pretty much did everything I could to get you to date me.”

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely, I was, uh, pretty relentless trying to convince you to give me a chance.” His hand reached to rub the back of his neck.

“I guess it all worked out.”

“With no lack of effort on my part, of course,” he said, reaching for his glass of water. She became transfixed by her plate. “Do you want me to tell you more? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t think I’m uncomfortable, it’s just weird. It feels like I blacked out and lost years of my life.”

“Isn’t that basically what happened?”

“I guess so.”

They both stared down at their plates again, and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

“This is weird isn’t it?” she finally said after their silence had grown stifling. “We’re not normally this weird around each other, right?”

His laugh came out as a huff. “I didn’t think it would be this awkward. This is worse than a first date.”

“How do we make this not be awkward?” she asked.

“I don’t know I’m new at this,” he shrugged with a slight laugh, “I think we just have to power through. It was a little awkward when we first started working together and we got through that, so I guess...”

“Fake it until you make it?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, since we’re starting over, I guess tell me about yourself?” She fidgeted with her utensils.

“I can do that. I’m good at talking about myself.”

And that was how she learned about the big and small of Draco’s life. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to explain every bit about himself, like it was a presentation, or if she studied him as if she were due to write a report about him.

He really liked olives, in his words almost obsessively so. He said that he would sometimes order a martini just for the olives it came with.

He had always had a problem with wanting what he wasn’t supposed to have.

His parents had moved to France after the war and never looked back. Hermione and him had travelled there a few times, and Draco sheepishly admitted that it wasn’t a fun experience for anyone involved.

He told her about his favourite foods, his favourite potions to make, and his favourite book.

He spoke about projects they had worked on together, friends they had, vacations they took together.

Each fact he told her about himself helped her sculpt the image of who Draco Malfoy was in her head.

He didn’t just monologue about his life, he often asked her input and thoughts about what he spoke about. Eventually, as he explained one of their last trips to France, she interrupted him.

“Are you still— are we— is this household rich?”

“Excuse me?” His lip quirked.

“It’s hard not to wonder about. When we were younger, you never seemed shy about flaunting your wealth.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes, well, I was a dick back then.”

“Well, yeah, you were, but this house is huge. I grew up in a 2-bedroom house and I thought that was big back then. We even have a library here!”

“I don’t think there’s a single version of you that wouldn’t end with hundreds of books in your home, but to answer your question, yes and no.”

She blinked back her surprise. “Explain please.”

“Well, we have my trust; we just don’t really like to spend it. At least not on the things that people normally spend money on.”

“What do we normally spend it on?”

“Your projects at work, mostly. If something requires a little extra funding, we’ll often send anonymous donations to the ministry. Especially if it’s potions related.”

“Really?” she said in surprise.

“It’s the reason that they still let us, no encourage us, to work together. Usually it’s sort of taboo for… couples to work together, but—”

“They know we’ll end up paying for something if they needed to,” she finished for him. She’d only been at the ministry for a year, but even she could remember how the government always seemed to look for loopholes they could exploit.

“We both get a little obsessed with work.” He smiled behind his glass. “If a project runs out of funding, or needs an ingredient that’s too expensive for the Ministry to approve, we’ll usually bring out the galleons.”

“That’s... a lot.”

“We don’t go overboard with it, but when we can help we do. It’s usually for a good cause.”

“When wouldn’t we fund a project?”

“Only when they’re asking too much. Or, if it’s considered dangerous by the ministry. They want all of those projects to be solely funded by the ministry. For example, your project amygdala had to be completely funded by the ministry,” Draco said.

“Project Amygdala?”

His face soured. “The project you were working on during your accident.”

“And it was supposed to be dangerous?”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, I guess that was a bit of a dumb question,” she said.

“Speaking of which, I started collecting some of your notes so you can look over for when you research it. Once you’re cleared to start reading again, I’m sure we’ll figure everything out.”

“Oh, I’ve already started.”

He narrowed his brow at her, opening his mouth. The arguments were presumably right on the tip of his tongue, but he closed his mouth and shook his head.

“Why am I not surprised?” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Well, I’ll let you look over them anyways. Maybe you can make sense of everything. Arthur can probably give you some good information too.”

Hermione nodded. “Can you tell me what you know about my accident?”

He nodded and explained everything he knew about the day before she got hurt. He spoke of floating brains and the department of mysteries. She was aching to restart her research. She hadn’t considered that there could be an entirely separate magical component besides the traumatic brain injury.

She started planning all the things she wanted to know as background knowledge before she contacted Arthur. Once she could find out more about the brain injury, then she could focus her research on the parts that were the most beneficial. She was almost vibrating with the possibilities.

She looked up at Draco who was shaking his head at her, “You want me to leave so you can start your research don’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me.”

As he stood, he cast a charm to wash the dishes and another to clean the kitchen.

“Let me grab some clothes first, then I’ll leave you to your illicit research.” He moved to walk towards the bedroom.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, rushing to stand in front of him. He looked at her in surprise. “It’s uh— messy in there. I didn’t clean anything before you came.”

“We usually argue about once a week about how you refuse to keep things tidy. It won’t be a surprise to me.”

She still hesitated as he walked past her. Once he opened the door, he nodded for several seconds as he took in the room. His mouth stretched into a thin line.

The unmade bed was the least of her concerns as she looked at all the clothes and makeup products she had scattered around the room.

“Honestly, it’s been 2 days since I was last in here and it—” he took a deep breath and shook his head, “Nope, I’m not going there. You’re recovering from a brain injury, you don’t need me nagging you.” He paused for a moment as he went to grab his things. “But honestly Hermione, a cleansing charm is so simple.”

“You’re freakishly neat, aren’t you?”

“If you’re asking if I like to maintain a certain level of cleanliness in my home, you are correct. If you’re trying to turn that into a character flaw you’re mistaken.” He took a deep breath before he started summoning his clothes from the closet.

She sat on the bed, swinging her feet as she watched him sort through his clothes.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Just that you ended up dating probably the least tidy person in the world.”

“We all have our flaws. Yours just happens to be your propensity towards slovenliness.” He rolled his eyes. He looked back at her. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I just never thought you’d be someone that would sort his socks by colour,” she teased.

“It’s the most efficient way to organise clothes.” He shrugged as he put trousers into a bag, then he froze before he turned to look at her. “You little snoop. You looked through my things, didn’t you?”

She giggled at him. “I’m only surprised that you’re shocked. I had to spend my day doing something.”

He shook his head as he zipped up his bag.

“Okay, well that’s everything I need at least for the time being.” He looked down at his bag as he double-checked everything. “I guess—I’ll be going now.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

He followed her to the fireplace. He shuffled his feet as he reached for the floo powder.

She stepped closer to him.

“Okay, so I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yeah, we can do that.”

She held her hand out to him. He stared at it for a moment before he looked back up at her.

“Are we business partners now?” he asked. His amused smile forced a blush on her face.

“Oh, Merlin. That was so weird.” She physically recoiled and had to resist the urge to cover her head with her hands. “I didn’t know how to say goodbye.”

He grabbed her hand before she had the chance to drop it. His hand was warm as it engulfed hers in a handshake.

“I’ve always considered the handshake one of man’s most impressive goodbyes.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious,” he continued. “That was the best handshake I’ve ever had in my life. I think I’m going to dream about it tonight. May never wash this hand again.”

“Stop making fun of me.” She laughed as he moved towards the floo powder again. “Draco, wait—”

He paused, a smile growing on his face.

“Friends hug, right?” she asked with some hesitation.

“I hug Theo all the time.”

He was tentative as she stepped towards him. Every motion, every slight twitch of his muscles seemed thought out, meticulously planned.

She took a deep breath while they held onto each other, desperately trying to memorise his scent. Maybe his smell would bring back some long forgotten memory she’d lost.

“That was a good hug,” he said once they let go of each other. “Not as good as the handshake, but not every form of physical affection can be as good as that.”

“Hmmm and I was just about to tell you I had a nice evening, but I think I’ll pass on that.”

“Wait, tell me, I love hearing good things about myself.”

“Too late.” She pushed him towards the fireplace.

“What the fuck did you call me?” Draco laughed, leaning forward in his chair to get a closer look at her.

Hermione was perched atop his desk like it was her throne. Which was an apt name. it was her seat, she was the self-proclaimed queen of Draco’s office.

She looked down at him, grinning.

“I said you’re my work husband.”

“Sorry, Granger, but I don’t think I remember a proposal.”

She shoved him lightly. “There’s no proposal. It’s just a fated thing. We’re work spouses. At work we’re very close and look out for each other, but obviously we have our own lives outside of work.”

He rolled his eyes. “This sounds like such an honour.”

She ignored his raised eyebrows. “It is. You get the pleasure of talking to me all the time. You get my impressive amount of work knowledge. I may even use the whole war hero angle to get you out of trouble when you piss the minister off.”

“Hmm, using your celebrity status to my advantage, I think I like the sound of that.”

“You’re like my platonic husband, but, obviously, I have Ron and you have... What was her name again?”

He brushed her off with a wave of his hand. “Oh, don’t worry about her. We broke up. I want to hear more about this work spousal thing. Something isn’t quite adding up.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems like I get all the boring parts of marriage with none of the fun bits. I’m forced to deal with your big, giant brain all the time and Weasley gets to sleep with you? That hardly seems fair.”

Her gasp was closer to a laugh as she pushed him away from her. His chair rolled away from her before he grabbed her bare calf to pull himself closer to her.

She giggled. “You’re making me regret my decision to make you my work husband. It may be time for a work-divorce.”

He gasped and placed a hand on his chest. “You wouldn’t dare do that to me, Granger.”

“Maybe I should go see if Theo is still work-unmarried.” She hopped off of his desk, but he reached his arm out to stop her from leaving.

“You’re forgetting, he’s gay. He’s in the market for a work-husband, not a work-wife. Besides, we never had a work prenup. It would just be messy if we had a divorce now. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

She grinned and shimmied out of his grasp. “I hope you live up to my incredibly high expectations then, work-husband.”

Hermione could feel his eyes following her as she moved to the door.

“You know Granger, technically a marriage isn’t considered legitimate until we consummate it.”

She shook her head at him. “You’re hilarious,” she deadpanned.

“If you change your mind and decide to make this relationship legitimate. I’m willing and able to fulfil my obligation as a spouse whenever you’d like. Please, please, let me know when you’d like my services.”

“Hmm I’ll let you know.”

“I’m very good at fulfilling my work-husbandly duties, just so you know. I believe a wife should always be satisfied.”

“You’re ridiculous, and I’m going to leave before you start stripping.”

“Until I see you again, my beautiful work-wife.”

She shot him one last smile before she left.

Chapter Text

A week of awkward dinners and even more awkward conversations made Hermione feel like shwas performing a stage show.

A cruel director had suddenly changed their assigned parts. Draco, who used to play the role of a doting lover, now how to manage with the less glamorous part of cautious stranger. They had thrust Hermione on stage without adequate time to memorise her lines. She stood backstage waiting for a cue to start performing, but it never came.

Draco’s arrival each evening signified the curtains opening. The spotlights shined on her face, heavy makeup painted her skin, and they performed their song and dance as best they could.

They both pretended that everything was normal and natural. If she acted like she was happy with Draco, the critics would approve of her performance. Right?

After the first night, they both agreed that more preparation was necessary for their dinners. Before he visited, she would list out all the questions she wanted him to answer. He prepared similarly. One evening, after a few glasses of wine, he told her he spent most of his time away from Hermione deciding which stories to tell her. Some of his stories were about the past, others about what he did that day.

Her favourite conversation topics quickly became related to Draco’s job inventing potions.

On their first Friday together, they sat on opposite ends of the sofa, discussing ways to elongate the efficacy of a potion he had been working on. Hermione campaigned rather hard for him to add pigeon feathers to the potion.

“That won’t work,” he repeated as he pointed back at the notebook she had been scribbling notes on. She opened her mouth to argue. “You’re forgetting about the Sneezewort.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Hermione,” he said with an exasperated sigh, “you can’t put sneezewort and pigeon feathers together.”

“I know you think they interact negatively, but you should just—” she stopped when he pushed himself off of the sofa and left the room with a huff. “Wait, where are you going?”

A minute later, he returned, rolling in a cauldron. A surprised laugh bubbled out of her as she scrambled off of the couch in a rush forward to watch him.

“Do we do this a lot?” she asked. “Just make potions together in our free time?”

“All the time, you seem to forget that I’m the one with a potion’s mastery and actually have studied the theory behind the ingredients.”

She bit her lip as she watched him summon various potion supplies.

“I know you think I’m wrong,” he said as he began stirring in the sneezewort, “but, I also know you won’t stop thinking about it until I prove it to you, so that means we’re making a potion in our living room.”

She chewed on her lip even more.

“What?” He barely looked up from the ingredients he measured.

“You said our living room.”

“Oh.” He sat down the beaker and looked at her. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It,”—she shook her head and cautiously tried a smile—“reminded me we own a house together.”

“Should I take my name off of the deed?” His voice was light as he stared at her shoes.

“No, of course not. Just a weird-brain-moment.”

Weird-brain-moment had become their safe word of sorts when something freaked the other out. There were too many moments of unintentional embarrassments for them to not have devised a system of handling it.

“Do you want to just ignore it and get back to me proving you wrong?” he asked, motioning towards the cauldron bubbling a light purple.

“I want to get back to potion making, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be proving you wrong.”

It was actually fun to stay like that; hunched over a cauldron with the potion steam bubbling in their faces. She was sure that her hair looked a mess. The sweat had probably caused her incompetent attempt at makeup to run down her face.

It didn’t really help her embarrassment that he looked like a glistening Greek God. Her gaze became fixated on his arms as he flexed each time he reached for an ingredient. Once she realised she had been staring, her gaze meandered to the smirk on his face.

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be keeping your eyes on the potion, not admiring my incredible physique.”

She glared at him with no real venom. “I was memorising what you look like before your tiny ego gets crushed.”

He shook his head and grabbed a fistful of pigeon feathers. He paused a few centimetres above the boiling water.

“Before I prove you wrong, is there anything you’d like to say to me?” he teased. “Maybe you would like to start drafting your apology for doubting my impressive potion knowledge.”

She laughed. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Well, when I’m proven right, the potion will turn black. On the off chance you’re correct, it’ll turn red.”

The feathers floated into the potion once he opened his fist. They stared down with an anxious excitement.

It turned green.

They looked at each other in confusion. Then back to the potion. Then back to each other.

“What the fuck?” Draco scrambled for their notes. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What did you do wrong?” she asked him. “I thought you had all this impressive potion knowledge?”

“No, that’s not — how did that happen?” He flipped through the pages that they had both scribbled on.

The rest of the night she had the pleasure of debating what interacted with what to cause such a disaster.

His knowledge of potions was probably one of the most attractive qualities she’d found about him so far. His mind was like the glossary of a textbook. He could recall, almost immediately, how certain rare ingredients interacted with others.

Except for pigeon feathers and sneezewort.

He didn’t understand that one at all.

Other than occasional debates about potion ingredients, she didn’t get any closer to going back to work. Her healer hadn’t changed her instructions about reintroducing her to her old life. Concerns were raised that work would be too much stimulation for her fragile psyche.

She ached for something remotely intellectually stimulating. Her days were boring. She felt trapped at home with nothing else to do but read. There was only so much research into traumatic brain injuries before she couldn’t take it anymore.

So she channelled her boredom into an over-exaggerated excitement for Draco’s visits. She tried to tell herself that it was just so they could talk about his work together.

He usually stayed a lot longer than was probably normal for someone coming to get dinner. Most nights they spent talking until one of their heads began bobbing from exhaustion. Then they would reluctantly say their goodbyes. But each night before leaving, they played what was quickly becoming her favourite game: coming up with random questions to ask him.

“Okay, I’ve got a good one,” she asked one evening, sitting next to him on the sofa after a few drinks had loosened her tongue. “What’s the strangest thing you’re afraid of?”

Draco’s knee bumped into hers as he groaned.

“Don’t laugh at this one. Okay? I’m terrified of planes.”

“Seriously?”

“I barely understand muggle technology to begin with, but the thought of a huge thing like that flying without magic?” he shuddered. “The whole time I flew, I was a wreck.”

“Why did you go on a plane in the first place?”

“One of my friends said that long distant portkeys give her a migraine, and ‘Draco it’s just a plane, muggles do it every day. We’re not going to the states unless we fly.’” His voice jumped an octave as he imitated a woman’s voice.

“I forced you to do that?” she asked with a laugh. He nodded in horror. “I was obviously correct. I mean, there are rarely plane accidents.”

“Rarely is not as comforting as you make it out to be. Being the gracious man I am, I agreed to come with you, but you didn’t tell me how much a plane bumped around. Or that we’d be on that metal machine of death for hours.”

“Obviously, we made it out alive.”

“Out of pure luck! I had to beg you to let me take a portkey back here. I don’t think I would have survived a return ride back.”

She shouldn’t have been so surprised that Draco was just as dramatic in adulthood as he was when they were younger. It was endearing to watch him take everything to the extreme.

Previously, she had worried about their ability to hold a conversation. She quickly found that she not only enjoyed his company, she craved it. It was surprising how quickly everything became easier between them. Draco’s overwhelming efforts to make her feel comfortable were not going unnoticed.

It was easier when she threw off the labels she couldn’t remember him, and think of him as a person she was getting to know.

He never pushed, never asked for more than she wanted to offer. He simply waited patiently and followed her lead. As soon as she showed that something was okay, he would return that affection.

For example, once she began hugging him regularly, suddenly she’s being hugged all the time. A hello hug was necessary. A goodbye hug essential. Even a ‘you picked the exact movie that I wanted’ hug was something that he claimed was mandatory.

Her memory loss went ignored as best they could. It acted as their ever-present rain cloud that threatened to pour at a moment’s notice. Every second their collective despair didn’t soak them deserved to be treasured.

She. had to interrupt their relative peace, eventually. After three weeks of procrastination, she finally convinced herself to call Arthur.

With a deep breath and a lot of pacing, she picked up her phone to call him.

With a deep breath and a lot of pacing, she picked up her phone to call him.

“Hermione!” he exclaimed as soon as he picked up the phone. “How have things been going?”

“Yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Draco, my... well—” What was she supposed to call him?

He chuckled. “Yes, I know your boyfriend.”

She shook herself as she gave an uncomfortable laugh.

“Oh, yes, of course. He told me you were there for my accident. Could you explain more about it to me?”

“Can we meet up at the Ministry? It’ll be easier to explain that way.”

She was out the door almost the second he suggested the excursion. She had rushed out of her home so quickly that she had a few moments to look around the Ministry while she waited. It was almost identical to what she remembered.

With the obvious exception of the colossal 20-foot-tall bronze sculpture of her and Harry on the run during the second wizarding war. Harry had the horcrux locket dangling from his neck, and she was staring at her map as she pointed in the distance.

As she stared at the statue, she had to admit that the artist had taken some “artistic” liberties with her body. She wasn’t that—for lack of a better word—voluptuous during the war. In fact, she had been skin and bones at that point. She guessed a statue looked more majestic when the subjects didn’t look close to death.

She had barely glanced at the version of Harry in the statue when she felt a warm pair of arms wrap around her. She turned around to see Arthur staring at her with a kind smile. He led her to a small cafe so they could have some tea while they talked.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said once they both had taken a seat.

“Thank you.” She opened her mouth to form a question that she wasn’t sure how to phrase.

Arthur filled in the silence for her.

“How are things with you and Draco?”

“It’s okay, I guess. It’s all just hard.” She took a long sip of her tea. “Everything seems so hard.”

“Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for either of you. I was so worried when you had your accident.”

She was thankful for the easy segue into what she really wanted to talk about.

“What can you tell me about it?” She reached for the notepad that she had brought along.

The story he told her was fairly similar to what Draco had told her the night before, but he also gave her a little more detail on what this brain room was.

“You were collecting some potion ingredients when you started talking to the brain,” he said. “I think you had already collected the sage and jobberknoll feathers. To be honest, I wasn’t really paying much attention to you. I was—well, I was doing other things.”

“What did I say to this brain?”

“I’m not sure. We can’t hear what they say to other people. I saw your expression, though. You didn’t look happy.”

“And then I hit my head?”

“It looked like something launched you from the brain. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Hmm,” she tapped her pen to her lips, “is there anything else you can tell me?”

He shrugged. “I wish I had more information. It was a surprise to me when all this happened. I’m sorry this happened.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault,” she said. The conversation had sparked some ideas. Maybe there was some interaction between the ingredients she was holding and the limbic system.

He watched her with a sad smile.

“Arthur, why are you being so kind to me?”

He gave a surprised laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, the way Harry made it sound, I thought I was the reason for all of Ron’s problems.”

“Hermione, I am a grown man. I’ve been through enough things in my life to know that nothing is as simple as making someone the bad guy. You’re not an enemy just because you didn’t do exactly what I wanted you to do.”

“I just—I thought Ginny was the only one even remotely on my side.”

“Hermione, I love my family,” Arthur said as if it were as simple as saying what the weather was. Her face fell. This was the part where he was going to tell her he was mistaken, that she had assumed too much about their friendship. That she was nothing more than a coworker. Noticing her face, he reached out and grabbed her hand.

“No, you misunderstood me. I love my family, and you will always be a part of that family. I’m sorry that everyone fights. I’m sorry that nothing is simple. But I’m not sorry that I’m still here to look out for you.”

“Oh.” She watched his face for many moments as she let her mind race. “Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for.” He hesitated for a moment. “Can I ask one thing of you? If you’re uncomfortable with it, just say so and I’ll drop the subject.”

She motioned for him to continue.

“Ron,” he said simply.

“What about him? Is he okay?”

“He is, but he isn’t.”

“I’m not sure how I would help him.”

“I’m not asking for you to do anything you’d be uncomfortable with. You obviously have a lot to work through with Draco, and I know he’s a good man. Just—” he sighed. “He could use a friend whenever you’re ready.”

She was quiet as she stared at the teacup in front of her. Her heart ached whenever she thought of Ron. He had betrayed her, in possibly the worst way. But did he deserve eternal misery because of that? Were her feelings of guilt or anger stronger?

She just didn’t appreciate how it always seemed that she had to be the bigger person. It was depressing, always having to fix problems she didn’t create.

She sighed and shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do that right now. If I reach out to him, I think it’ll just hurt both of us.”

“I had to ask.” He nodded and then cleared his throat. “Anyway, consider the subject dropped. Tell me about how you’re adjusting to life with Draco.”

They spent the rest of their lunch talking about more mundane subjects. He seemed genuinely interested in how her life was going. He nodded at all the times, asked questions when it called for, even gave advice here and there.

She wondered, as she stared at him sipping his teacup, why everyone assumed she’d immediately forgive Ron.

It was strange how close she seemed to be with her ex-boyfriend’s father. He seemed to know things about her she didn’t tell most people. When it was time for her to leave, he gave her a long hug.

“I hope to see you at work soon.”

“As soon as I get the okay from my healers, I’ll be back here. I’m excited to actually figure out what it is I do for my job.” She laughed as she walked with him to the floo network.

With one last wave at her, Arthur disappeared. She waited in front of the fireplace for a few moments. Once her glances around assured her that no one was looking at her, she turned and headed towards the elevator.

She was standing in front of the Department of Mysteries before she knew it.

“Excuse me, Ms Granger, can I help you?” A wizard at the reception desk eyed her suspiciously.

She probably could have planned her infiltration better. This was the first time she could remember being there, at least since fifth year. She didn’t know the regulations that the ministry had in place, and most employees probably would assume that she should know what she was talking about.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

She looked up at him with as haughty of an expression as she could manage.

“Oh yes, I need to grab some potion materials from the Brain Room.”

Her posh accent surprised herself. She hoped her attempt at channelling Draco Malfoy circa 3rd year was effective.

“Ms Granger, the last time you went in there... well, you know what happened.”

She forced a smile. “Of course, and as I’m sure you remember, I didn’t get the materials I needed. I would very much like to continue my project.”

His eyes shifted back and forth. She was lucky that he worked that day. He seemed exceptionally easy to manipulate.

“They don’t really like it when people go in there alone,” he mumbled, looking down at his shoes.

“Oh, well, you can come with me. I’m sure you won’t get hurt like I did last time. If you do, at least you can get a few weeks off of work.” She watched his eyes widen with fear. “Or, if you’re very busy, feel free to stay here. I’ll just be a moment.”

He sighed. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t tell my boss.” He motioned for her to walk ahead.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she opened the door. Despite her complete and utter lack of expectations, she was still shocked.

The room seemed to breathe into her. Its twisted song wrapped around her and invaded her senses. The name, she noted in surprise, was not a misnomer. It was, in fact, a room filled with floating brains.

I’ve missed you. One slithered by her. Any news from the outside?

Someone, or something, was talking to her without words. The sensation of the eerie voices slithering into her mind raised the hair on the back of her neck.

I didn’t think we’d see you again. It’s been so long. Another circled her.

She didn’t speak to any of them. Her eyes flashed around the room as more and more guttural voices spoke to her.

Don’t be nervous. We won’t hurt you. A third brain travelled underneath her arm.

Eventually, the lights in the room seemed to dim as one voice became louder than the others. There was a choking scent of trepidation as the voice landed in front of her.

Hermione.

She opened her mouth to voice her surprise.

Say nothing. I want you to be quiet.

She felt her mouth shut without her moving it. The voice kept twisting the haunting melody into her.

I am disappointed in you.

You are making the same choices you did before.

She opened her mouth to contradict it.

I did not give you permission to speak yet.

The brain continued, almost unperturbed.

I felt it.

You regretted your decision.

I felt it.

She was suffocating against the clenching sensation of dread that seemed to fill her.

I gave you an opportunity, and you are wasting it.

The room was silent. She struggled to breathe.

You can speak now.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t even remember speaking to you the first time.”

You were upset. But you chose the same thing. Why?

“Are you talking about how I chose Draco?”

The brain hissed at her.

You are choosing wrong. You keep choosing wrong. Fix it.

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but a sharp pain raced through her brain. Her mouth opened in a cry.

“Who are you?” she asked through her pain. There was a strange alien beauty to the woman she could barely make out in her brain. It scared her how she couldn’t look away from the nothingness of it all.

I’m someone that wants to help.

“I don’t think I want your help.”

You will.

“Can you just tell me what you want from me?”

No.

“Why’s that?”

Because it needs to be your choice. I’m just helping you make it.

She winced around the throbbing ache in her temple. There was so much she wanted to ask. That she wanted to know.

“Are—are the dreams. Are they real?”

Yes. Pay attention to them.

“I have been,” she ground out through her clenched jaw.

Good. I’ll keep helping you.

Now leave.

With a piercing pain in her skull, she dropped to the ground. She cradled her head in her hands and crawled out of the room. Every movement ground her bones together in a painful crunch.

“It seems I can’t trust you to be alone, even when you’re on medical leave.”

Hermione opened her eyes to see Kingsley Shacklebolt staring down at her with a disappointed expression.

He cast a series of spells on her, and the pain in Hermione’s head subsided partially.

Kingsley reached down to help her stand. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

“Come with me to my office, so we can speak.”

They talk in this office. They discuss the case, her injury. He introduces a lot of the brain room stuff to her.

“What did it say to you?” Kingsley asked, summoning her a cup of tea.

“Excuse me?”

“The brain. You called it Clover before, but I don’t give them names. It always had interesting things to say to me. I go to it to get advice often.”

“It didn’t seem very nice to me.”

“Most magical spirits aren’t nice. They all have an agenda.” 

“It just said something about me making a mistake and needing to fix it.”

Kingsley hummed to himself. “That must be true, then. At least some part of it.”

How? she wanted to ask. How could any of that be true? It was unthinkable to consider the alternatives to any of her actions.

Her mind fought with itself, a battle forming within the trenches of the ventricles containing her memories. She wanted to ask more questions. There was so much she didn’t understand.

“Listen, Hermione,” Kingsley said, bringing her attention back to his face. “I cannot have you continuing to get hurt on Ministry property. Unfortunately, I am going to have to suspend your program for the time being.”

It wasn’t surprising, but still a flash of disappointment shot through her.

“When will it be unsuspended?” She had to ask, even with how foolish the question felt.

“I’m sure I’ll find something you can do to prove it will be safe again.” Kingsley smiled at her, a smile so wide that for a second she thought if there was anyone who wasn’t manipulating her.

When Kingsley had dismissed her from his office, she stumbled back home, more confused than ever. When she found her way back to her bed, she discovered her headache was hard to ignore. She fell asleep as her head hit the pillow.

She walked in through the floo to find Ron’s eyes slammed shut, his fingers rubbing circles into the temples.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, rushing to his side.

Instead of responding, he handed her the opened letter that had been in his lap. Her heart sank with each word she read.

Ronald Weasley, we thank you for your interest in the open position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. We are honoured to be considered by such a prominent figure. Unfortunately, questions were raised about...

She couldn’t read anymore as her eyes shut. “They didn’t accept you.”

He stood to move towards their liquor cabinet. Instead of pouring himself a drink, he took swigs straight from the bottle.

“No. They didn’t.”

“Maybe I can go talk to them. Draco has some friends in—”

“I don’t want you to solve this for me.” He took another drink.

“I’m so sorry, Ron.” She took a tentative step closer to him.

It was always hard to know what to do when he was in a mood like this. She usually did the wrong thing. But now, the sympathy she felt for him outweighed her logic of ways to best comfort him. She wanted him to feel comforted by her presence, not by his solitude.

He put the bottle on the counter so he could cover his face with his hands and took a deep breath.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” His hoarse voice sounded rough, muffled by the barrier of his palms.

“Don’t say that. This is just a rough patch, but we’ll figure it out, I promise you.”

She reached out to him, but he jerked away as if her touch burned him.

“I don’t know why I keep trying. Nobody wants me. I couldn’t pass my auror test. I get fired from the governing board. Now, I can’t even get an entry-level position at the fucking Ministry.”

He let out a harsh sigh while closing his eyes. His breaths had become shallow as she watched him try to hold back his tears.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Every single time I think I’ve figured it out, something like this fucking happens. I’m sick of always losing.”

She clenched her hands at her side as she searched for some way to provide him comfort. Nothing came.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Can you stop saying that?” he snapped.

She bit her lip and tried to remind herself that he was just angry. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stop looking at me like I’m this—this failure you have to put up with.” He jumped away from her and he moved to the opposite side of the room.

“I don’t think that.”

“I’m so tired of nothing working out. Fuck!” He paused his pacing so he could kick a chair. The sound reverberated around the room. His breathing grew heavier.

“You’re going to figure it out, I know it,” she said, trying to sound as hopeful as possible. “Don’t get discouraged. It’ll all work out.”

“Can you let me be upset for once in my goddamn life? I’m so sick of you always trying to fix my problems.”

She shrunk away from him before she forced herself to step closer. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t really want you to do anything.” Again, he flinched from her touch. She tried not to let it upset her.

She wasn’t successful.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

He took another deep breath. “Yes, I do.”

“Okay...” She walked towards the exit. “I’ll be at Harry’s if you need me.”

She shuffled from one foot to the next at the fireplace as she waited for him to respond.

“I love you.” Her voice was quiet as she watched him stare catatonically at the paper that had his failure written all over it.

He didn’t respond.

Chapter Text

People looking at her with sympathetic expressions was exhausting after the hundredth time. 

“You don’t think this changes anything?” Hermione asked. “A giant floating brain took responsibility for my accident and you’re saying this changes nothing?” 

She was aiming her anger at the wrong person. Her healer had been nothing but understanding. Unfortunately, she was the only one in range of Hermione’s hopelessness. 

“What I’m saying is, I don’t know,” Healer Morgan said. “There’s little research regarding the Department of Mysteries. The ministry is very secretive. Besides, most of my experience with brains typically involves them being in someone’s head.” 

“I get it. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologise. How about I tell you what science tells us instead? We can trust that.” 

“Please.” 

With a quick flick of her wrist, Healer Morgan split a 3-dimensional model of her brain in half. Blinking colours flashed all over the lobes.

Morgan pointed at the pulsing yellow colour. “Do you see this spot right here? Your injury is localised here. This area is your limbic system, your hippocampus in particular.” She floated the scan closer to Hermione. “A hippocampus lesion is usually an easy fix with magic, but each time we try to heal the damage, there is a block.” 

“The magic can’t penetrate this part.” She motioned to the glowing red portion. “Something causes all the magical energy to dissipate. We’ve tried potions, charms, and any spell we can think of to stop the block. None of it has worked.”

“Now,” Morgan continued, “given everything you’ve told me, it’s likely the damage will heal on its own. Especially if your dreams continue as they have been. That is a very positive sign, but other than waiting, there’s not much we can do.” 

“What do I do now?” 

Morgan shrugged, a distressing gesture to see from a medical professional. “Focus on the memories you’re receiving. It seems like they’re telling you something important.” 

A familiar surge of fear raced through Hermione. “I will not listen to what the voice said to me. If you’re suggesting that I somehow made the wrong… choice or whatever, then—“

Morgan raised her hand to calm her. “I am absolutely not suggesting that. I hold little stock in prophetic magic. All such entities are inclined to trick or manipulate. Surely you know that.”  

She released a breath. Hermione didn’t believe in Divination. Why should she trust what this brain’s word as facts? 

No, it was better to trust facts over fanatical beliefs.

“Do you really think everything will come back?” 

“There is a good chance it will. Look closely at this spot.” Morgan said. “It looks as if things are being funnelled to you. This block is selectively pulling your long-term memories to your short-term and working-memory so you can recall them.” 

“So I just let this thing come back to torment me? Hope it gets bored and gives me everything back?” 

“Unfortunately, for now, it seems like your best option.” 

Morgan vanished the diagnostic scan. “I have some good news I can share, at least. I think you’ve proven you can handle more strenuous mental and physical activities. As long as you’re cautious of any pain you have, I don’t see why you need to stay cooped up in your home. You should return to work whenever you feel up to it.” 

Her first instinct was to smile, but emotional weakness kept her from completely summoning it. 

She didn’t remember her job. How was she supposed to complete work that she hardly knew the first thing about? Maybe she needed to find something else to do.

Morgan’s cool hand landed on Hermione’s in an attempt to comfort her. 

“I’m sure you know this, but the brain is a mysterious subject. Most people, myself included, have spent their entire careers studying it and still have only scratched the surface. You have pathways in your brain that no one can see. Every thought, every memory, everything you do, is shaped by these experiences. These pathways still lie in your brain and can only be strengthened through continued use.” 

“So, what you’re saying is…” 

“I am not a mind healer, dear. Frankly, it may be out of my scope of practice to give you the advice I’m about to, but I think you should return to your old habits. Falling back into your old routines may help remind your brain of the things it used to know.” 

“Will that help?” 

“I don’t think it will hurt. This entire ordeal has put you under a tremendous amount of strain and pressure. Perhaps you deserve to stop searching for the past and focus on the future.”

Hermione floated out of her healer’s office with barely a thank you. Her mind raced with suppressed worries as she returned home in a daze. It was all too much to think about, too much to handle.

Her gaze locked on her fireplace as her knee bounced up and down in an off-kilter rhythm. Before she could convince herself it was a bad idea, she snaked her hand into her pocket to grab her phone. Her fingers tapped out a quick message to Draco, asking him to see her as soon as he could.

He stumbled through the floo almost as soon as she sent the message. With wide eyes showing the only visible sign of his panic.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He dropped to his knees in front of her. His eyes raced all around her face as he scanned her for injury. Finding nothing visible, his panicked expression morphed into concern as he repeated his message, this time in a gentler voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her voice cracked, despite her intention to appear nonchalant. “Just a lot of things have happened today, and I didn’t want them to go through them alone.”

He let out a long breath as moved to sit next to her. “Tell me.”

“Well, um, I think I may be getting memories back?” Her voice raised as high as her shoulders did. Before he could calm his expression, she saw a bit of joy flash across his face. She spoke quickly to calm his excitement. “It’s just in dreams or something and I don’t know if they’re even true—”

“What did you see?”

“Well, honestly, most of them have been about Ron.”

If she hadn’t been staring intensely, she wouldn’t have seen the subtle flinch, the horror on his face that he quickly got rid of.

“Oh... okay.”

She cautiously reached for his hand. As soon as she touched him, he tangled his fingers with hers. “I had one, a good one, about you. Um, did I used to call you my work-husband?”

The weight melted from his shoulders as he pulled her into his arms. “Yes, you did. Oh, Merlin, I can’t believe it. This is amazing. Are they all coming back or...”

She mumbled into his shoulder through his tight grip. “I’m not sure. I just have bits and pieces now. It’s sort of like being shown highlights of the last few years. There’s a lot of context I’m missing for them.”

“I don’t even care. I’ll take whatever I can get. I have all the context. I can give it to you.” He pulled back to laugh. “This is amazing! I was half convinced you were going to tell me something terrible.” His excitement felt like a wildfire spreading.

She braced herself. “Okay, now time for the bad news.”

He stilled.

“You know how I got hurt when I went into the department of mysteries,” she said.

“Yes...”

“I think it has something to do with my injury.”

He blinked. “Is that new information? I assumed that’s what happened.”

“Well, that’s the reason none of the treatments have worked so far.”

“Wait, how do you know this?” His gaze narrowed.

“I actually went to—” she knew he probably wouldn’t like this, “I went to the brain room.”

“You didn’t.”

“I just wanted to see what it was like. I feel like my research wouldn’t amount to anything if I didn’t know what it was I was dealing with at the time of my accident.”

He covered his face with his palms and mumbled through his hands. “You are so dumb.”

“Hey!”

He sighed and rolled his eyes at her. “Sorry, I understand we’re probably not at the point in our relationship where I can insult you like that, so I’ll rephrase it. You are so fucking reckless.”

“I wanted to know.” She knew he had a point. She probably could have taken some better precautions.

“You’re obviously still breathing, so it couldn’t have gone that badly. Tell me what happened.”

Draco looked tense throughout her abridged retelling of her experience in the brain room. She made the split-second decision to keep the exact conversation she had with Clover to herself. They were already on too fragile ground to shake up everything by explaining that a mystical spirit wanted her to break up with him.

He looked contemplative after she finished. “So, at least we have a better understanding of your injury.”

She bit her lip, looking at him.

He shrugged. “Let’s just focus on the good for right now. We can worry about the rest later.”

“I think we’ve been due for a win between everything that’s going on,” she agreed.

“Hermione 1, weird magical spirit 0, right?”

“Maybe it’s tied now. After all, it started everything.” She took a deep breath as her small smile appeared. “Thank you for being understanding about everything.”

“Of course. Just — promise me one thing.” 

“Sure.”

“Don’t you dare go into that room again, especially not by yourself. If something were to happen to you—” He broke off. “For my sake, at least just don’t. Okay?”

She rubbed her hand on his shoulder. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”

“It’s impossible to not worry about you.” He shook his head at her. “Well, I’m here now. What do you want to do?”

They played a movie she couldn’t focus on. Sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, she watched him as her mind flooded with thoughts of choices.

What did all of this mean? What did the brain mean?

It thought she was choosing wrong. That much was obvious. But choosing what? Ron? Based on her dreams so far, she couldn’t imagine a reality where they ended up together. She hadn’t exactly concluded that Draco and she were inevitable (they still had a lot to figure out), but she could feel herself wanting to lean on him more and more.

Their relationship felt like a confession made when blackout drunk; as if she had drunk-dialled an ex she thought she didn’t have feelings for. Her memory loss was the morning-after hangover that forced her to examine remembering what she couldn’t remember consciously wanting.

It didn’t help that some magical spirit assumed it knew better than she did. Nothing, or no one, deserved to know her own thoughts as well as she did.

She chewed on her lip as she continued to stare at Draco instead of the film. Her mind wandered to Rule 10, and how much physical contact was appropriate for their relationship.

She had autonomy over her own choices.

Over her own body.

Draco looked over at her with raised eyebrows. “You’ve been staring at me for the better part of an hour. Do I have food on my face or something?”

She blushed at getting caught. “No.”

He grinned. “Is it my incredible physique that’s captured your attention this evening?”

“Not this time.”

“I hope you realise that you just accidentally called me attractive,” he teased. “That’s going to go straight to my head.”

“I know what I called you… It wasn’t an accident.”

His expression faded from mocking into hopeful anticipation as he turned his body to face her.

As close to his face as she was, she saw him bite his cheek to stop his smile. Her eyes drank in his face: the smile lines, the little flecks of blue in his otherwise stormy eyes, even the little scar above his brow.

“Hermione…”

She had always thought her name was silly. Too long to be said properly in conversation. An obvious target for schoolyard bullies to make fun of in her youth. It made sense why people shortened it, or gave her a nickname. ‘Hermione’ was a pain to say even if someone could pronounce it correctly.

No one had ever said her name like he did. Her name flew across Draco’s tongue like a figure skater gliding on ice.

Her-mi-one.

Each syllable caressed like he knew how important each letter was to her. He spoke it like she was an unanswered prayer.

She panicked at the intensity of his gaze. “That’s — all I wanted to say, I guess.”

She needed to move back to where she was sitting. She needed to quit while they were ahead. She needed—

No.

No. She didn’t.

She needed him.

His wide eyes watched her like she was a wild animal in danger of attacking. His hesitation didn’t disappear off of his face until she leaned her head on his shoulders.

As soon as she had made contact, he quickly adjusted his posture to make her even more comfortable than before. His firm body and heavy arm on her shoulders immediately became a familiar comfort.

His breaths came out in shallow exhales as her hand floated up and down his chest. He felt closer to a statue as she buried her face even further into his embrace. The wild thumping of his heart was even more thrilling to listen to than whatever film they played.

The film ended with them like that, entangled with one another. They stayed connected as the title screen repeated. Over and over and over again.

It didn’t feel like a choice that needed to be made between them, but if there was, she knew her answer would be Draco. He had been nothing but kind to her. He matched her craziness with his patience and understanding.

And — and she could even imagine herself falling in love with him. Sometime.

In the distant, distant future.

She wasn’t ready for that now.

But as her fingers curled into his shirt, his comforting scent and touches were like salves for her bruised emotions.

“So…” His tentative hand ghosted up and down her arm like he was afraid she’d leave him. “I’m more interested in talking about this glorious cuddling session we’re having. I assume I can now add this to the list of things I’m allowed to do with you?”

She shrugged, trying to look as innocent as possible. “I guess you’re not terrible.”

“Not terrible... You’re doing wonders for my self-esteem.”

Her smile turned playful. “I think your ego can afford some hits.”

“But what about the whole calling me hot part? Any chance you’ll repeat that?” He smirked.

She pushed herself off of him. “I did not call you hot. I said you were nice to look at. There’s a difference.”

“They sound similar enough to me.”

“Crookshanks is nice to look at. That doesn’t mean I find him hot.”

“You’re really comparing me,”—he motioned towards his body—“to our ancient cat?”

They both looked over to see Crookshanks occupying himself with grooming his stomach. As if he knew they were speaking of him, he looked up at them with a grimace.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I can see a resemblance between you two.”

He grabbed her and pulled her against him again. “Admit it Hermione, I’m hot. You know it. I know it. Just admit it.”

“Hmm...” She tapped her hand on her chin as she pretended to consider it. “Eh.”

With a light shove, he pushed her off of him.

He moved to stand off the sofa. “If you’re going to keep making fun of me, I’m going back to Theo’s. His insults hurt less.”

“Wait.” She tugged him back down. “I have some questions to ask you about work.”

“Oh no, I’m not answering anything until you admit that I’m hot.”

She laughed. “I will not—”

“I’m too focused on my apparent ugliness to answer questions.” He sighed and looked wistfully at nothing.

“You are so dramatic.”

He stared at her expectantly.

“Fine.... you’re hot,” she mumbled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” He put a hand on his ear and leaned closer.

“You’re hot okay! You’re a very attractive man. Merlin.” She moved her hands to cover the flush on her face.

He touched a hand to his heart. “I love it when women compliment me as a last resort.”

Leaning back on the other end of the sofa, she began asking her questions. If she didn’t know that the man loved her, she would have realised it that night. He humoured her neuroticisms long enough to deserve an award. After almost an hour of grilling, he finally stopped her.

“You know I don’t actually work at the ministry, right? I’m just your contact for potions consults,” he said when his patience had probably worn thin. “I’m not sure how accurate my information is.”

“I know, I’m sorry I’ll stop.” She moved to stand from the sofa they were sitting on.

“Oh, no you don’t.” He reached a hand out to pull her back down next to him. Somehow, she ended up even closer to him than she was before. “I’m sure you still have a huge list of questions in that giant brain of yours. Ask them.”

“But you’re bored.”

He tipped his glass. “That’s what the alcohol is for. I can’t be bored when I’m drunk and have a beautiful woman asking me all the ridiculous questions she comes up with.”

She rolled her eyes, but continued with her questions ranging from “who is my supervisor?” to “what is the policy on sick days?” to even a “who did I consider my work-rival?”

Once she finished, she dragged him into her bedroom so she could get his opinion on her potential first day of work outfits.

He gave her an unimpressed look. “Those are the same tops.”

“No, they’re not.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

She looked down at them. “Okay, they’re a bit similar, but they look different when I put them on, I swear.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“No, look, I’ll prove it.”

Before she realised what she was doing, her hand had drifted to the hem of her top and pulled it upwards. She moved to put the other shirt over her head before she remembered that standing in front of Draco in just her bra wasn’t something they did together.

When she looked at him, his eyes were fixed on her chest, then to her horrified expression, then back to her chest. Once she dragged her shirt back down, they darted to the ceiling.

Her horror bubbled out of her as a short, shrill laugh. For one awful moment, they were both silent.

He stared at her with a heavy gaze before he shook himself with a cough. He recovered first by snapping his mouth shut and replacing his dazed expression with a smirk.

“Taking me to your bedroom and getting undressed in front of me? That doesn’t seem very platonic of you.”

“Merlin, I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Well, don’t apologise about it on my behalf. In fact, feel free to keep going.” He leaned back on his elbows on the bed like he was preparing himself for a lap dance. He motioned for her to continue.

“I think that was some weird muscle memory. I don’t know why I did that.” She busied herself with putting the shirts back in the closet, her breaths coming out in short pants.

“Oh Merlin, don’t freak out.” He stood so he could put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He pulled her around so he could look at her. “Hermione, it’s all okay. I’ve seen it all before. In fact, here’s some exceptionally bad news for you; I’ve actually seen you naked. More than once, in fact.”

“I know that... it’s just I don’t remember that,” she squeaked, her face bright red.

“I know. I’ll stop teasing. We’ll just classify this incident as another awkward brain moment.” She could barely look at him as her body trembled with embarrassment.

“I guess this will be my cue to leave. Unless... you want to continue with your little striptease.”

“No, I don’t think I will—um—right now. I mean—”

He put his hand over her mouth to quiet her before she became consumed by her panic. “The fact that you think it may happen in the future is a lot more encouraging than you know.” He pulled her to him in a tight hug and whispered in her ear. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to make fun of you about this. I can’t wait.”

She pushed him off of him and out of her room and walked him out, mortified.

“This has been such a fun night,” Draco said before he left. “I got to spend the evening with you in my arms and got to see you half-naked. Please, please ask me to leave work early next time you’re in the mood for a repeat.”

She pushed him into the fireplace.

She couldn’t believe that she did that. She hadn’t forgotten that Draco was in the room with her, but it just felt like something that wasn’t a big deal. As if a part of her brain thought that her getting undressed in front of him was just a fact of life.

The other part of her brain, the one that could barely have a sexual thought about the man without dissolving into a round of hysterics, quickly took over when she realised what was happening.

She walked back to her room in a daze, putting the outfits back in her closet, no longer caring what she wore to work.

She woke up far too early the next morning. In fact, based on what the clock next to her bed said, most people probably considered 4-am night time. She couldn’t help it. All of her anticipations had collected until she was just a ball of excitement that she couldn’t seem to control.

Despite her excitement at returning to work, her first day was boring. A small man with a large moustache informed her she needed to speak with the human resources department.

Apparently, having a major brain injury on ministry property meant having to fill out a lot of paperwork. To make matters worse, she had to have a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt that boiled down to “do not go into the Brain Room again without proper protections” and then a small section devoted to welcoming her back.

Oh well, she didn’t really have any desire to return.

Then a peppy woman gave her a tour of all the places around the Ministry that might apply to her. By the time that Hermione had arrived at her office ready to work, it was time for her to leave.

She swallowed her frustration and headed back to her home. As much as she wanted to stay late, she knew it was probably in her best interest to start slowly. Her exhaustion was bad, the ache in her head was worse.

She couldn’t wait for Draco to come over that night so she could explain everything about her day to him. Her excitement at returning to work consumed her. Her focus was so intense as she walked through her fireplace that she did not immediately recognise that there was a man in her home.

A man that was not the blond hair, grey-eyed man she’d expected to see.

She screamed and whipped out her wand to shoot a full body-bind curse at him without a second thought. His body hit the ground immediately.

“Theo?” She rushed forward to cast the counter charm.

He sat up with a groan. “What. The. Fuck?”

“I didn’t know who you were! I thought you were someone dangerous.”

He looked at her like she had just told him she didn’t like books anymore.

“Well, that was fucking obvious.” He sat up so he could straighten his tie. “I guess I should consider myself lucky that I don’t have any permanent damage.”

She didn’t particularly like his tone of voice. “Should I remind you I was on the run recently? The whole fighting for my life thing ring any bells?”

“Maybe I should remind you that was almost a decade ago.” He rubbed the back of his head as he glared at her. “Fuck that hurt. The Granger I know didn’t just hex me because I scared her. Fuck.”

“Well, obviously, I’m not the same Hermione you knew. I will not apologise for something that’s not my fault,” she huffed, and crossed her arms as she looked away from him.

“No, you’re the same person, still so fucking bitchy.” He stood and brushed off his pants and then took a seat in her armchair. She gasped in indignation.

“Are you going to explain why you’re here?” she asked. 

“I’m getting to it. Have a seat.”

She hesitated.

“Oh, fuck off. Obviously, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have done more than stand in your living room waiting for you to come home. I would have set a trap or something. Look around. Do you see any traps?” He motioned around the room.

There was a distinct lack of traps.

After a few seconds of searching around with her eyes, she finally took a seat. He watched her for a few moments, with a contemplative expression on his face.

“I was asked to come over here,” Theo said with a sigh after a few moments.

“By who?”

“Pansy mostly, but Blaise also supported it.”

“Does Draco know you’re here?”

“No.”

Hermione stared at him to get some sort of information from him. He showed even less expression on his face than Draco did. Although whether that was because of her growing familiarity or something else, she wasn’t sure.

“What does Pansy want from me?” she finally asked when she realised he wouldn’t offer her any more information.

“To see you.” He shrugged.

“Why would they want that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Granger, I’m not going to sit here and tell you all the reasons your friends want you in their lives again. Talk to Malfoy if you want compliments. He’s got plenty of them for you.”

“I-I what?”

“I get you’re figuring out all of this”—he gave a vague gesture—“but can you please do it a bit faster.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been wallowing all alone for too long.”

“I’m not wallowing.”

“You are. I’m the one that has to listen to Malfoy complain every time you freak the fuck out about any little thing. Which seems like all the time.”

Hermione’s mouth opened, but she was at a loss for what to say.

He capitalised on her moment of hesitation. “Look, you haven’t seen us in months. Everyone just wants to get back to the way things were.”

“And they sent you to come convince me? Why you?”

“I’m the sweetest,” he deadpanned.

“You called me a bitch not even thirty seconds ago.”

“No. I called you bitchy, not a bitch. There’s a difference.” 

“The difference being?” she asked.

Theo sighed at her as an older brother would at a sibling when they were forced to play with them.

“Bitch implies it’s permanent. Bitchy implies — wait, I’m not here to debate fucking semantics with you.” He glared at her.

She couldn’t believe it. He had barged into her home and had the audacity to be annoyed at her for asking questions.

“Oh, that’s right, you’re here to convince me to see a bunch of people that hate me?”

“We don’t hate you. We actually miss you.” His face screwed up like he ate a lemon. “See what I mean? I’m the sweetest. The other two would never compliment you that easily, without some sort of ulterior motive.”

“And what do you want me to do about that?”

“You’re coming to my place tomorrow night,” he said.

“Do I get a say in this?”

“No.”

Luckily, she didn’t have to respond as Draco walked in. His eyes widened as he looked at the two of them.

“Theo?”

“Hey Malfoy. See you tomorrow.” He nodded at them as he took a handful of floo powder and left.

Draco looked at her in search of an explanation. “What was that all about?”

“If I could tell you, I would.”

Hermione looked up at Draco from the corner of her eye to see him standing just close enough for his shoulder to brush lightly against hers.

A smile grew on both their faces when they realised what she just did.

“Did I just—”

“I think you did—”

His breath came out in a huff. “You — fucking hell, I can’t believe you figured it out.”

She looked up at him and then back to the arrangement of papers and notes that he had plastered on the wall in front of them. They both leaned forward to double-check her work.

“We’ve been going over this potion for weeks, and you just — pulled out the greatest suggestion I’ve ever heard and — how did you come up with beetle eyes? I can’t believe it. That has to be it. It’s the perfect solution.”

She had never seen an expression on Draco’s face that was even on the same quidditch pitch as a grin, but there he was close enough that she could see and count his teeth.

“You think so?” She smiled up at him.

He opened his mouth to respond, but it looked like the words were caught in his throat. His smile faded as he looked down at her. His intense gaze prompted her to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

“Yeah—” he spoke before he cleared his throat. His voice was deeper when he recovered. “It’s a brilliant idea, Granger. You’re… brilliant.”

His cheeks were pink as his eyes drifted to her lips for a fraction of a second before they shot back up to her eyes. She pretended not to notice. Instead, she stared at his mouth — his lips which parted in breathless delight.

“Thanks.”

His eyes had siphoned off all the air that had been in her lungs, leaving nothing left but a tingling emptiness. Her cheeks turned a similar shade to Draco’s when she saw his fingers twitch towards her.

Distantly, she wondered if he could hear the beating of her heart. He had to. The blood that pulsed in her ears was deafening to her. Each thump was another reminder of the man standing in front of her.

His eyes were so—

The intensity so—

Neither of them could look away.

Previously, she thought she had memorised the exact colour of his eyes, but she had overestimated the grey. As close as their faces were now, his eyes were black.

“Hermione—”

Her-mi-one.

“Hey you two...” Theo’s voice trailed off as he came to a stop behind them. He raised an eyebrow at them as they jumped apart. “Did you figure it out?”

Draco shook himself with an uncomfortable laugh. “Yeah, all thanks to Granger.”

Her hands hung limply at her side. They should do something. She should move her hands. Where did they normally go?

Theo’s head tilted to the side as his lip quirked.

A nervous giggle tumbled out of her. “Well, I’ll leave you two with the actual task of making the potion. I think I should probably get going. I’m sure Ron — you know Ron, my boyfriend. Ron. He’s probably waiting for me. At the flat. That I share. With Ron. My boyfriend.”

Theo looked delighted. “Thank you for that over-explanation.” He looked over at Draco, then back at Hermione. “Did I interrupt something?”

Draco and her spoke over each other. “No—”

“Of course not—”

Another shrill laugh came out of her. “Well. I will see you both soon. To work on the potion. But not too soon, of course. But soon enough.” She tried not to groan at herself. She needed to leave before she embarrassed herself even more. “Okay, I’m leaving now.”

“Bye Granger,” Theo said slowly. He looked between the two of them, amusement written plainly on his face.

She escaped in a rush to get away from her own office.

Draco watched her leave.

“What the fuck did I just walk in on?” Theo’s excited voice asked from behind her.

“I have no idea.” Draco’s shocked voice came out in a barely heard whisper.

She wasn’t sure if they wanted her to overhear what they were talking about, but she didn’t dare turn around to ask.

Chapter Text

“This is a bad idea,” Hermione repeated to herself as she paced around the room. “Why did I agree to do this?” 

He sat on their sofa, ankle crossed casually over his knee.

“Pretty sure Theo didn’t ask you. He demanded for you to go.” 

His smirk did not calm her down. In fact, his whole casual demeanour grated on her nerves. Being reintroduced to all of his friends was a big deal. One of them needed to be nervous about this. If he wouldn’t take up the mantle, she supposed she would have to overcompensate. 

She’d asked him to come see her as soon as they finished work that day. She’d already made him help her decide what to wear, answer all of her questions about his friends, and comfort her through her panic. 

“Hermione,” he said, pulling her to sit next to him, “you’re going to be fine. What could possibly go wrong?” 

She took a deep breath, “Well—“

“Wait, wrong question. You’re a genius at creating worst-case scenarios. I’m sure you’re worried about something that’s extremely unlikely.” 

“I imagined them all attacking me.” She frowned at his laughter. “I’m so glad you find my nervousness funny.” 

“I’m laughing at the idea of you thinking any of them would come close to beating you in a duel.” He grabbed her shoulders, breathing over dramatically. In and out. “Calm down. Tonight will be fine.” 

“Do you really think so?” 

“I know so.” 

She wanted to believe him, especially with how confident he sounded, even so, she couldn’t quite get there. 

“And… we’re all friend with each other?”

It seemed impossible. Theo had thoroughly ignored her at school. Blaise always made jokes at her expense. Pansy, well, despite Draco’s insistence that she loved her, she absolutely terrified Hermione. The girl had been brutal at Hogwarts. Hermione never would have guessed that one day they would all just — get along?

Although she supposed that she’d slept with Draco Malfoy. He was proof that anything was possible. “Theo was telling the truth. They all miss you something fiercely. Although they’d never tell you that.” 

“But what if I do something stupid?“ She sighed. Her arguments were growing cyclical over the past hour of questioning.

“They’re not going to bite you. Make fun of you? Probably, but that’s how they show love. Remember, they already like you.” 

“It’s so intimidating! The first time I spoke to Theo, he convinced me we slept together. I can’t imagine what all three of them will do to me.”

“You haven’t slept with any other Slytherins, or, at least, if you have we’d probably need to have a conversation or two about that.” 

Hermione looked down at her shoes, reflecting her contemplative expression back at her. She prepared herself mentally to go into the snake’s nest. 

Draco tipped her chin so she was looking upwards. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. If you’re really this nervous, we don’t have to go tonight. I’ll tell Theo we’ll do it another time.” 

“No, I should get this over with.” She stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. “I want to be friends with your friends.” 

“Then you should try not to look like someone’s about to pull a tooth.” 

One last dramatic sigh from her, and then she nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” 

He smiles at her, before looking at the clock on the wall. “Oh no, you’ve made us late. They hate tardiness.” 

Oh no. It made sense to get there fashionably late. Didn’t it? She didn’t want to look too eager. Why wouldn’t Draco have told her—

“I’m kidding. They don’t care.” 

“You are not helping!” 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” 

Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him. “I’m already nervous enough without you adding to it.” 

He gave her an indulgent sigh as he pushed her into the fireplace with him. “You don’t have to worry. I told them to be on their best behaviour.” 

“Do they listen to you?” 

“Sometimes.” Draco grabbed a handful of floo powder and winking at her. 

When they stepped into Theo’s house, Draco took a few moments to push off the nonexistent floo powder from both their shoulders. The pause gave her time to reignite her nervousness. 

“You look like you’re walking into your funeral,” he said. “Look, Hermione you’re going to be fine, and if you hate it, we’ll leave. Alright?” 

 His reassurances extinguished any of her doubts and she nodded.

He led her through Theo’s elegant atrium. Fancy portraits hung on tall walls. A young girl who looked like Theo waved down at her. It was like being in a museum, which was more added pressure onto her already crumbling confidence. 

“Last chance to back out,” Draco whispered in her ear. After giving her a moment to run for the hills, he opened a large door. The conversations stilled when they entered. 

She was attacked. 

Almost immediately. 

“How dare you?” A voice screeched at her. Hermione’s eyes widened while an angry and red-faced Pansy Parkinson stomping towards her. “You’re such an idiot!” 

Hermione pulled Draco to stand infant of her to be a convenient human shield. “What did I do?”

“‘What did I do?’” Pansy mocked and stepped around Draco so she could be face-to-face with Hermione. “You almost died, you stupid bloody idiot! You almost died and then you decided to forget me!” 

“I didn’t decide anything…” Hermione looked up at Draco, hoping he had answers, but he looked just as surprised at she was. 

Well, I she was going to get attacked, at least she could also be proven right at the same time. Her fears hadn’t been totally out of the realm of possibilities. 

“I know you did something stupid that caused this. Do you know why? Because you’re a bloody idiot!” 

“Oh, fuck off Parkinson.” A laugh came from the corner. Blaise Zabini rested on a leather wingback chair with a glass of scotch dangling from his fingers. “She didn’t plan this. That sounds like something you would do for attention.” 

“Or Theo.” Draco led a dazed Hermione to the table. He pulled out the chair for her and helped her take a seat. “He always says we don’t appreciate him enough.” 

Pansy huffed and returned to her seat without stopping her glare at Hermione. 

“No,” Blaise said, “He’d do something far more extreme. Probably go missing for a few months. Let us really feel his absence. Then he’d return from whatever private island he’d been staying at. He’d be much more dramatic about it.” 

Whereas Pansy seemed to want to attack her, Blaise looked delighted. His legs stretched out wide in front of him and he watched her with a curious expression that had Hermione avoiding his gaze. 

“Excuse me,” Theo said, walking through the door carrying a bottle of wine, “I’d prefer if you didn’t gossip about me where I can overhear it. At least wait until I’m gone like a decent person.” 

Her eyes were going to pop out of her head as her eyes darted around to all of them. She had never felt so out of her element before, and she was someone that was told that she had magical powers at the tender age of 11. 

Theo uncorked the wine and gave her a generous pour. “Here Granger, this will help.” 

Blaise scoffed. “Yeah, they say booze helps with memory loss.” 

“It certainly beats her staring at us like we’re going to Avada her. Just relax, we’re all friends here.” 

“I’m not scared of you guys.” Considering how all three boys quirked an eyebrow at her, she wasn’t sure they bought it. 

She took a large sip of her drink. Then another. 

Theo poured her more as soon as her glass hit the table. “Drink up. Maybe if you’re nice and drunk, you’ll remember how much you love us.” 

Blaise laughed and reached forward to clasp Draco on the shoulder. “At the very least, it might finally give Malfoy some action.”

Hermione choked on her drink. Draco said something and pushed Blaise’s arm off of him, but she was too busy coughing to listen properly. Once she finished wiping her face, she searched her mind for one of the witty conversation starters she had prepped.

Her mind drew a blank. 

Draco leaned in to whisper theatrically to her. “This is going well. You immediately pissed off Parkinson. That usually takes me at least 15 to do. I consider the night a success already.”

“I can hear you,” Pansy huffed with a sarcastic smile on her face. 

“I wasn’t trying to be quiet.”

Pansy seethed and turned so she wasn’t facing them. The consistent tapping of her foot echoed throughout the parlour room.

Blaise snorted at her, then glanced over at Hermione to explain. “She doesn’t know how to deal with complex emotions. What she’s trying to say is ‘I’ve really missed you and I’m glad to see you again.’ You’ll relearn to speak Parkinson soon enough.”

“Fuck off,” Pansy said with a distinct lack of denial.

“I need a drink.” Draco stood and looked down at her. “I can get you something else if you want it.” She stared at him with wide eyes as she tried to beg him not to leave her.

“I’ll go with you.” She scrambled to grab his hand.

“Do you see that look,” she heard Blaise say, “That’s a look of please don’t leave me alone with them. I think we’ve terrified her.”

“And they say Gryffindors are supposed to be brave,” Theo sneered. 

“I’m not scared.”

With two words and a singular eyebrow raise, Theo called her bluff. “Prove it.”

“Leave her alone.” Draco rolled his eyes, grabbing her hand. “It’s okay, you can come with me....” he paused. “I suppose not all Gryffindors can be brave.”

She gasped. “You traitor.”

Now she couldn’t leave without threatening her house pride.

“I’m fine, I’ll stay here.”

Hermione unclenched her fingers from his hand and focused all of her energy on making her voice nonchalant. She strongly believed that if you pretended hard enough about anything, it can become a reality. She was close to popping a blood vessel with all the pretending she was doing.

When Draco left, all three of them turned to look at her expectantly. As if her memory would come back just because they stared at her hard enough.

“What do we normally do when we see each other?” she asked.

“You’re looking at it,” Blaise supplied. “We always get drunk. We usually insult each other. Sometimes we’ll go to a bar and try to get one of us laid. Obviously except for you and Malfoy.”

“And you guys do this every week?”

“Well, ‘you guys’ usually includes you too,” Theo said. “And usually.” 

“Do we ever do anything fun?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Her eyes widened as she realised what she had said. The two glasses of wine had obviously affected her more than she knew.

The room was silent for one awful moment.

“I think she’s insulting my hosting. Granger, you’ve been here for,”—Theo looked at his watch —“10 minutes. And you’ve already started calling me a disappointment. You’re faster than my father was.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologise. We like it when you’re bitchy.” Blaise snatched the wine bottle from Theo’s loose grip so he could top off her glass.

“I thought we discussed not calling Hermione bitchy.” Draco walked back in with a frown and a glass of whiskey in one hand and a mojito in the other. The boys bickered back and forth about the meaning of bitchy in a surprising continuation of the conversation that she had the day prior.

With the other three occupied, Pansy hopped over to the seat next to her and leaned into Hermione to whisper. She never thought she would learn what Pansy smelled like, but there she was, inches away from a girl that was rather mean to her in school. It pleasantly surprised her that Pansy smelled distinctly like lavender.

“I’ve been trying to tell them for years that they’re boring. They won’t listen.” At Hermione’s face, Pansy paused. “What?”

“Are you not mad at me anymore?”

“No. If I’m mad at you, I can’t talk to you, and I’d much rather do that.” Pansy extended her hand so she could examine her cuticles. “Stop looking so surprised.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation that didn’t end with you insulting me.”

“I still don’t think we’ve had a conversation that didn’t end with me insulting you. You’re easy to insult.” She looked uncomfortable as she leaned closer to Hermione to whisper. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen closely. You are not allowed to have any more near-death experiences. If you ever so much as get a paper cut again, I will kill you. And I’ll probably do it slowly.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of me not getting hurt?”

“Shut up,” she sneered before her face sobered up. “I’m serious. I never want to sit at your bedside at St. Mungos ever again.”

“You were at the hospital?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Who do you think held poor, little Malfoy’s hand when he was crying over his comatose girlfriend?”

Hermione didn’t like that. The pang in her heart was threefold: being referred to as Draco’s girlfriend, him suffering in the hospital, and, the most shameful of the three, Pansy holding his hand.

Pansy seemed none the wiser to her internal turmoil. She drained all the sweetness from her expression and returned her features to a displeased contempt.

“I hope you enjoyed that display of affection, because it’ll be awhile before you’ll get anything like it again.”

The other boys had grown quiet as Draco came to stand behind Pansy, “Hey Parkinson, get the fuck out of my seat.”

She stood, giving Draco a derisive look. “You act like you have a monopoly over Hermione.”

“I do.” 

“So, Granger,” Theo said once Draco finished taking his seat and placing a mojito in front of Hermione, “since my hosting isn’t up to your impeccable standards, what would you like for us to do?”

She thought about what she would have done if she were with her Gryffindor friends. “How about a drinking game?”

Four sets of eyebrows raised immediately.

Playing Gobstoned was a time-honoured tradition for all Gryffindor students. Many a hangover and poor decisions have stemmed from competitive Gobstoned tournaments after Quidditch games. 

The rules were simple. Similar to Gobstones, the goal of the game was to score points by rolling marbles into a circle. Only, when a player lost a round, they weren’t sprayed with putrid fumes; instead, they had to drink or take a hit of whatever it was they had in front of them. 

Hermione’s favourite version of the rules had the marbles turning into random shots for them to take. 

Gobstoned wasn’t a very popular game outside of the Gryffindor common-room, something likely because of its recent invention by Fred and George Weasley circa 1996. 

She didn’t have any Gobstoned marbles, but she didn’t need any. With a flick of her wand, she cleared the table and summoned everything she needed. 

“So, we’re just playing Gobstones?” Blaise asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Yeah, it’s really fun. Just give it a chance.” Hermione bounced on her heels as she waited for them to finally understand the rules.

“But we don’t get sprayed if we lose? We just… drink?” Draco looked like he was trying to be supportive, but he wasn’t able to keep the look of confusion off of his face.

She grinned. “Exactly. The marble will turn into a shot.”

“That sounds unsanitary,” Blaise said. 

Draco’s paltry attempts at support broke. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be supportive, but this is literally the most Gryffindor thing I’ve ever heard. Why can’t we just get drunk the normal way?”

“You realise that we’re almost in our thirties, right?” Blaise said. “You want us to pretend like we’re back at Hogwarts?”

“Well, in my mind, I’m still 20. So, let’s play.”

“I think it sounds fun.” Theo clapped his hands together and summoned the drinks for them. “It’s much better than the muggle board games she normally forces us to play.”

She paused. “You didn’t say that we play board games. We should do that instead.”

“I thought we weren’t going to tell her that.” Blaise groaned.

“You know Malfoy was going to tell her, anyway. They don’t keep secrets from the other.”

Draco nodded seriously, as if the job of not keeping secrets from her was his most important job.

“Well, I’m not playing. It’s undignified.” Pansy sniffed from her seat in the corner. “We shouldn’t have to play Gyffindor games.”

“You don’t have to play.” Hermione put an innocent-enough smile on her face. “It makes sense. You probably don’t want to embarrass yourself. The Gryffindors played it a lot. There’s no way you’d be as good as me.”

“I beg your pardon—” Pansy stood to stand next to her, before sighing. “Okay, fine, you manipulated me into playing.” 

Theo was a natural at Gobstoned. He even gave Hermione a run for her money. Blaise and Pansy were decent enough. It took them a couple of tries before they got the concept. Once they understood the basics, they actually became competition.

She had never seen anyone as bad at Gobstoned as Draco was.

Like most drinking games, it was not a game that rewarded you as you became drunker. It became an endless cycle of him drinking because he failed and then failing because he was drinking too much. It didn’t help that his friends seemed to make it their mission to get Draco as drunk as possible.

When it was her turn to play against him, she tried to fail so that he could go a round without drinking. He was so bad at it that their round went on for several minutes as he continued missing.

“Granger, we can tell what you’re doing,” Theo said. “We exploit weaknesses here, not baby them.”

Pansy shushed him with a wave of her hand. “No, I like it. She’s obviously emasculating him. That’s always fun to watch.”

“I don’t know what came over me. It’s just really hard for me to play right now. I think the drinks have gone to my head,” Hermione said. 

Blaise was the first that started booing her. The other two eventually joined in, and then she had no choice but to destroy him.

At that point, she knew she needed to change her strategy. Dragging Draco to the corner of the room to give him some tips, she stood behind him to hold his arm. She was in the middle of showing him the proper strength to use when he twisted his body to face her.

His cheeks were bright red, a loopy grin on his face as he pulled her hips flush with his. “Hi.”

“Hello there.” She laughed at him.

“You’re so pretty. Did you know that?” He reached forward to play with her hair. He looked like a cat swatting at a piece of string as he bounced one of her curls in her hand.

“I think you’re pretty drunk.”

His head lolled back and forth as if testing the degree of his intoxication. “Hmm, you’re right, as always, but that doesn’t stop you from being beautiful. So beautiful and so smart. My beautiful, smart girlfriend.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You smell like booze, Draco.”

He leaned forward so he could blow his breath all over his face. She squealed as she tried to push him off of her.

“I love you. So much,” he slurred in her ear. He grabbed her face and squeezed her cheeks between his hands. And Draco, yes, Draco Malfoy, giggled as he rubbed his nose against hers.

“Oh gross,” she heard Pansy say from behind them, “they’re flirting.”

“Finally they’re showing some affection. You’d think they’d been married for 40 years with how they were acting around each other,” Theo said.

“You know, Theo, maybe you could help me with my form. I think I would benefit from some 1-1 tutoring, especially if it’s anything like Granger’s teaching style,” Blaise drawled.

“Not enough alcohol in the world, Zabini.”

“Hey Malfoy!” Pansy snapped her manicured fingers at him. “It’s my turn to beat you. Get off of Hermione.”

“You’re very good at this game,” Draco slurred as he stumbled back to the table. “You are very talented, Pansy. You’re great at many things. Like being an amazing friend.”

His smile was big and bright.

“Oh no,” Blaise groaned. “I knew we made him drink too much.”

Draco turned to him, pointing a sloppy finger at him. “Why is it a problem for me to tell a friend how much I admire them? I love you all so much. Obviously, Hermione the most because she’s the prettiest, but you’re all my best friends.” He swayed as he tried to trudge to the table.

“You are so disgusting,” Pansy said. She looked at him like he was something at the bottom of her heels. “Please don’t start doing this.”

“Pansy.” Draco leaned forward towards her. “You are so nice to Hermione, and that’s why I like you so much, because she deserves a good friend like you. Her other friends are horrible.”

Pansy tried to hold in her laugh, attempting a stern tone. “Stop that. Do not compliment me again!”

“I will if I want to, because you deserve good things.”

Hermione gave a surprised laugh at his free-flowing compliments.

“He’s drunk. When he gets drunk, he can’t stop complimenting us. It’s without a doubt his worst trait,” Theo explained as he leaned against the wall next to her.

They watched Draco compliment Pansy until she reached her fingers up and stuck them in her ears.

“You know we’ve missed you, right?” Theo tapped his shoulder against her as he watched the game that was happening around them.

“Have you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fishing for compliments?”

“No, this is just all strange. I never thought we’d all be friends.” She took another sip of her drink, watching Pansy make fun of Draco. “But it feels like my brain remembers things I don’t know about. It’s like,”—she turned to face him head-on—“right now I know I missed you, but I don’t know how I know that. I don’t think that makes any sense.”

“It doesn’t, but I imagine you’re an expert on weird brain things by now.” 

“At the very least, it’s nice to just have a fun night.”

A slight quirk to Theo’s lips as he stared at her out of the corner of his eye. “We all love you. Even Zabini, although his form of love is usually shown through sexual innuendos or making fun of someone. He used to do that before Malfoy told him to quit.”

Pansy cheered as Blaise poured another shot down Draco’s throat. 

“Used to?”

“He flirted with you all the time; it made you laugh and made Malfoy mad. He’s always liked a bargain.”

“Why would Draco get mad?”

“Is that a serious question?” He snorted, then looked at her when he realised she wasn’t joking. “Malfoy’s territorial with you always has been. It doesn’t help that Zabini likes to rile him up anyway he can.”

“When did he stop?”

“It was probably your first month of dating. Malfoy got angry enough to tell him to seriously stop. Things have been less interesting ever since.”

So, Draco Malfoy had a jealous streak. It shouldn’t be surprising, considering all she knew about him growing up. He didn’t seem like someone who would be good at sharing. Still, it was something she could add to her case study of the man.

“Well, you’ve certainly made things more interesting by getting this stupid brain injury. So, I should probably thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome... I guess?”

“Listen, Granger, we need to talk—” 

Draco interrupted him by stumbling back over to them, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“Theo!” he exclaimed as he leaned on him. “I love you, Theo.”

Theo’s hand moved to Draco’s back to steady him as he wobbled next to him.

“I will push you off of me. Don’t tempt me.”

“Are you being nice to Hermione?” Draco asked, giving him as serious of a look as he could. It didn’t last long, as his mouth seemed to perpetually be drawn towards smiling. “You need to be nice to her.”

“I’m always nice.”

“You’re a good friend, no—the best friend I have, but you’re not very nice.” 

He hummed. “Maybe I’ll work on it.”

“Theo is my best friend,” Draco announced to the room and thumped Theo on his chest. “Well, you are all my best friends. I guess now Hermione’s my bestest best friend because I love her the most.”

“Mate,” Blaise said, shaking his head, “you have got to stop. You look like a Hufflepuff right now.”

“You ready, Theo?” Pansy asked. “It’s your turn.” 

Theo shoved Draco towards Hermione. She caught him before he fell down. He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her with a sigh.

“Guess it’s my turn. We’ll talk soon, Granger.” Theo pushed himself off of the wall. He looked back at Draco with a sneer. “Malfoy, don’t vomit on my carpet.”

“Do you like him?” Draco asked as they watched Theo return to the table. “He’s my best friend.”

“You told me that already.” She smiled up at him. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to think about him. He kind of scares me.”

“That’s how you felt years ago. But you learned to love him.” He looked down at her with glazed- over eyes. He also seemed to believe that every word he said was hilarious. “You learned to love me too. Don’t know how that fucking happened. But I guess anything’s possible.”

She summoned a glass of water for him. “I think you should be done drinking for the night.”

“You’re right, like always. You’re so beautiful and smart and funny. I think you’re the best person I’ve ever met... ever.”

She wasn’t sure if he was going to remember a word he was saying in the morning. Regardless, she pressed the water to his lips.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

His eyebrows shot up as his smile grew even wider. “You should join me. We haven’t even broached all the ways you liked me to fuck you. I could illumi-illuminate your worldview with my tongue, or my—.”

He surprised a laugh out of her. “Absolutely not.”

“Worth a try.”

She pushed him out towards the door. “Can you lead me to your room, or should I ask Theo?”

“I know where it is.” He nuzzled his face into her shoulder. His body was heavy on her as they walked towards the exit. Draco beamed at everyone as she said their goodbyes.

“Yes. Please leave. He’s disgusting to look at,” Pansy said, unable to keep the grimace off of her perfect features.

“I love you all so much.”

“Malfoy, your emotions are showing.” Blaise said, throwing his marble, causing Theo to drink. His inquisitive eyes followed her exit as he downed his drink.

It felt like he was trying to meld their bodies together into one as he leaned on her. Anytime she gave him more independence with his walk, he began tilting towards the side. She was convinced if she wasn’t there, he’d be crawling his way to bed. 

His arm was heavy around her shoulder as he mumbled compliments into her ear, things like: “You’re so perfect,” “I love you so much,” “Your hair is so pretty.”

If they were sober, she guessed that the words would have sent her spiralling. Instead, she was just drunk enough to appreciate each pleasurable tingle he sent throughout her.

Draco pushed a bundle of curls off of her shoulder so he had better access to her ear. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You do a lot. I’m starting to think you’re a better person than me.”

He pulled back, looking distraught at the idea. “That’s blasphemy.”

She was considering levitating him to his bed when he finally pointed out his room at the end of the hall. Panting, she plopped him down on top of his blankets.

“I love you,” he said. 

“I know you do. Do you want to know a secret?”

He nodded aggressively. “I think there’s a good chance I’ll love you too.”

He gasped and leaned forward. For a split second, she thought he was going to kiss her until he pulled back with a groan.

“Ugh, I forgot. I can’t do that.” His hand drifted to trace her mouth. His fingers hovered on her cupid bow. “I miss kissing you. You have such pretty lips.”

“Lay down. I’m going to get you something to change into.” She tried to push him down on the bed to hide her blush. She looked at the dresser in the room. “Do you keep your clothes in here?”

“They’re in the bag over there.” He motioned to the corner of the room, then his hand clutched her arm before she could move out of his reach. She landed on the bed with a soft thud. “Am I doing okay?”

“What—”

“Am I being a good boyfriend?” he interrupted, his eyebrows furrowed. “I never know if I’m doing it right.” His voice was so quiet she had to lean forward so she could hear him.

“I—”

“I don’t think you’d tell me if I was doing bad. I’m so scared.”

“Why are you scared?”

“I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You’re doing a good job.” She tried to assure him, but he didn’t seem to be comforted by her soft tone.

“I don’t feel like I am,” he said, his fingers moved to trace her neck. His index finger pressing down on her collarbone. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

He moved the hand from her chest towards her arm. He traced runes onto her bare skin, leaving gooseflesh running up and down her arm. Her heart ached as she stared into his expression of drunken unease, but there was nothing she could do to offer him any relief.

“I miss you. I miss you so much.”

“I’m right here.”

“You are, but you aren’t.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“I feel like everything I do is wrong,” he mumbled and turned his head. “I don’t think I can get you to love me again.”

“Hey.” She pulled his face, so he looked at her. His eyes searched her face, running from her eyes to her mouth, to her cheeks. He was searching for something, something she didn’t know she could give him. “You’re doing amazing. I don’t think I would have got through any of this without you.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look like he’d found his answer. “I’m trying my best.”

“I know you are.”

“I feel like I’m going to regret telling you all this in the morning, but drunk-me feels like you should know it. Drunk-me is way more fun than sober-me.”

She didn’t smile at his attempt at humour. “I didn’t know you were having such a hard time.”

“You are my favourite person in the universe! We’re happy and in love, and then you’re gone. I thought you were going to die, and then you didn’t, but you hated me. It made me want to die. Then you leave to see Weasley—” He groaned, ripping his hands from her body and putting them over his face. “Ugh. I don’t want to talk about him. I hate him.”

She moved her hand out to calm him, but she faltered and left it dangling in the air before it fell back to her side.

His voice was empty as he stared at the carpet underneath his feet. “I thought you were going to leave me for him. I had to watch you two together for all those years, and then I do everything I can to get you love me. And I succeeded! But suddenly, we’re back to you thinking you love him and leaving me for him. Again.”

“I’m... sorry.”

“And — And, he got to kiss you! That’s not fair, because I really want to kiss you.”

She opened her mouth to quell her guilt, but he shushed her. His fingers pressed against her lips, leaving her mouth crushed against his hand.

“This all stinks.” He stomped his foot on the carpet as he leaned his forehead on her shoulder. “You were the person I told everything to. But now, I don’t even have you to talk to. I have to talk to Theo, and he can be really mean.”

He pulled her body closer to him, as if their touch could solve his sadness, or if it could make her remember everything. She felt him hold her like she was his only lifeline.

“You can talk to me,” she mumbled into his arm.

“No, I can’t, because if I talk to you, then I’ll freak you out and things could get even worse than they are now.”

Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t figure out the words that would comfort him. He stared at her with a child-like hopelessness before he groaned again.

“Oh no. I’m making you sad too. We can’t both be sad.”

She put a smile on her face and shook her face, scooting closer to him. Her thumb brushed against his cheekbones. “I’m not sad. I feel bad that I’ve made you feel sad.”

“I don’t want you to feel bad for me.”

She needed to comfort him in some way, so she grabbed his face and pulled him in for a hug. His head landed on her chest as she ran her fingers through his hair.

His fear transformed into awe.

“I can hear your heartbeat. I love that sound. It’s my favourite sound in the whole world.” He pushed his face even further into her, then looked up at her with a sleepy grin. “I also can feel your boobs. I love your boobs.”

She sighed. With the conclusion of their intimate moment, she pushed him off of her. “Let me get you some clothes for you to change into.”

“Oh no. Don’t worry about it.” He lifted his hands so he could pull his jumper off. “I’ve got it.”

She focused on his face and tried not to let her eyes wander. He was reaching to unbutton his trousers when she stood and turned away from him.

“Uh, I guess I’ll leave you now.”

She stared at the door and waited for the shuffling behind her to finish. She looked back at him, assuming he’d be under the blankets.

Her assumption was wrong.

He had flopped on the bed wearing nothing apart from his boxer briefs. Her eyes widened even more as she stared at him.

And she stared at him.

For a lot longer than she was proud of.

He looked up at her through hooded eyes. “I love you. Thank you for talking to me.”

“I’m sorry about everything,” she whispered to him before she turned and left. She tried to close the door as quietly as possible before she headed off to the fireplace.

Her footsteps stilled when she saw Theo leaning against the wall across from Draco’s room.

“Everyone else has left.” His eyes searched her face. “I was going to ask to speak to you, but you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” He motioned for her to follow him. “I imagine Malfoy said something too personal.”

She said nothing and instead allowed him to lead her through his maze of a home. He occasionally looked back at her like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve.

“What were you going to talk to me about?” she asked.

“I had a whole tough-love speech prepared for you. About how ridiculous you’ve been.”

“And you decided not to because?”

“Even I’m not cruel enough to lecture you about your craziness when you look like you’re one poor joke away from a mental breakdown.”

They reached the fireplace, the floo powder already in his hand. She reached for it right as he pulled it out of her reach.

“I said I wasn’t going to lecture you, and I mean that,” he said, “but I just need to make sure that you actually understand that you’re torturing him, right?”

“He made that abundantly clear to me tonight.”

“As long as you know that this whole ‘friends’ thing is insane, I’ve done my job.”

The intense urge to defend herself flooded her. It seemed like everyone was always demanding things from her. She knew why she was taking things slow. She even knew that Draco understood her hesitations. But it seemed like, in less than an hour, everyone suddenly decided it was time to make Hermione feel like a cruel idiot.

“I don’t want to get with someone just because it’s what everyone expects of me. That’s no way to start a relationship.”

He didn’t react, just stared at her. “Is that what you want? A relationship?” 

“I think so.”

“You’ll never know unless you give him a chance. The guy’s fucking obsessed with you. Give him a chance to show you that.”

“I want to be with him.” She amended her earlier answer. “I do.”

It was a simple admission. Not even newsworthy. If a journalist had been following her and listening in to the conversation, they probably wouldn’t have even made a note of it. 

But to her, it meant everything. She had never admitted, not even to herself, the idea of her wanting to be with him. Her confession was just one small step of many more she planned to take. It wasn’t filled with regret, or fear, or hesitations. It just... was. It was a statement. A factual one at that.

Looking at Theo, she realised he understood the significance. She saw what she believed to be the first genuine flicker of emotion on his typically solemn face. The first emotion that didn’t seem like a facade or coated in annoyance. It wasn’t a smile, nor a smirk. It was just a bright expression that smoothed the subtle lines of worry off of his face.

“Good,” was all Theo said. 

She looked at him, seeking some sort of advice that only someone who knew Draco as well as he did could give.

“I don’t know how to get back to where we were.” Her admission pained her.

His mask returned; this one full of haughty contempt.

“You can take something off that ridiculous list of yours. Maybe let the saint snog you or you could even fuck him. Really, anything that would help him stop complaining to me about how miserable he is all the time would be appreciated.”

She nodded, avoiding his eyes. He reached forward to hand over her only means of escape; the floo powder. Theo stretched as if he had just finished working at an office desk for 8 hours.

“Just so you know, I fucking hate talking about your feelings. So, figure everything out so we never do this again.” He stared at her for a while longer before he gently pushed her towards the fireplace. “Thank you for coming tonight. I know you probably freaked out about this.”

“Just a bit.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

She floo-ed back alone, ready to begin the monotonous task of undressing and going over the events of the night. She paused when she saw her appearance in her floor-length mirror.

She stared at the shoes she had picked earlier in the day. They had seemed sensible when she had decided on them. She didn’t want to fall or stumble in front of people she couldn’t remember; her shoes had been the safe choice. Looking down at her feet, all she saw were the ugly scuffed patent leather kitten heels she couldn’t wait to kick off.

“I think I owe you a drink, Granger.” Draco’s voice was low in her ear as she bent over the bar, trying to get the barman’s attention.

She jumped, not realising how close he was to her. She had noticed him from her table in the corner when he had shown up, but she didn’t know that he had seen her as well.

“And why do you think that?”

“Because you’re going to do all my work on this report to the Minister.”

She spluttered. “I absolutely am not going to—”

“I’m kidding. I owe you a drink for giving me an excuse to end what is possibly the worst date of my life over there.” He looked so he could turn around and wave at the beautiful blonde woman sitting alone. She looked up at him with an unimpressed look.

“How am I your excuse?”

“Because you’re going to invite me to have drinks with your friends, and I’ll tell my date that my old classmates really want to see me again.”

“And she’s going to be okay with that?”

“She’s having just as miserable a time as I am. I’m sure.”

Hermione leaned her elbows on the bar and looked up at him with a grin. “And, pray tell, why this date is so horrible? She looks just your type.”

“I used to be really into the whole vapid blonde—”

“Coming from the king of the vapid blondes himself,” she interjected.

He continued, unperturbed. “I find myself more interested in the solemn, big-brained, curly-haired brunette type.”

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re not talking about me.”

“Of course not, we’re already work-married, not sure what else I could get from you.” He flagged down the bartender at last. “Now, about that drink?”

Draco Malfoy wanted to get drinks with her friends. She had thought that the man was going to stop surprising her, but he seemed to find new and new ways to keep her on her toes.

“Fine, get me a drink then.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you can bring it to my table for me.”

She turned on her heel to go back to her friends, who were staring at her in confusion, but Draco reached out to stop her.

“Granger, wait, you’ve got to make this believable. She needs to believe that I have to leave this date to spend my time with you.”

“And what would you like me to do about that?”

The hand that was touching her arm pulled her into his embrace. He grabbed her wrists to rest them on his shoulder. Then, his hands drifted to her lower back, his touches featherlight.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she said into his ear.

“Absolutely, you’re like a nun with this whole work-spousal thing. I never get to touch you. I’ll take whatever I can get from you.”

She had never thought that a voice could sound like a smirk, but Draco’s was a close approximation of it. She pushed herself from him. Channelling her mum, she tried to lecture him as best she could.

“No jokes like that in front of Ron. I mean it. Repeat the boundaries we’ve talked about.”

“You are in a committed relationship and you don’t need me pretending like I’m in love with you.” His monotone voice repeated what had become a fairly common conversation topic between them. “Don’t worry. I promise not to make your insecure boyfriend feel bad about how awesome I am and how much of a loser he is.”

She put a hand on her hip and stared at him.

He sighed dramatically. “Fine, I’m not planning on pretending to be in love with you tonight. Only because I love my work-wife so much.”

She gave him one last pointed look before she returned to her table. Harry, Ginny, and Ron watched her like she had grown a third head.

The moment she slid into her spot next to Ron, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. “What was that?”

“Did you just hug Draco Malfoy?” Ginny asked with a nervous laugh.

“It was nothing. He was just being ridiculous.” She looked back at Draco speaking to the blonde and pointing at her table. Hermione smiled when the girl sighed and race out of the bar. Her friends were still staring at her when she looked back at them.

“What?” Hermione asked. “You know we work together. Of course, we’re friendly.” 

“Friendly...” Ginny hummed.

“Why is he coming over here?” Ron looked up in horror. “Why does he have two drinks in his hand? Oh, bloody hell, what did you do, Hermione?”

“He’s coming to get a drink with us. He’s not horrible to be around. Trust me. You’ll like him.”

“We’re getting drinks with Malfoy. I’m pretty sure I had a nightmare like this,” Harry said with a surprised laugh. “Maybe I’ll get to hex him at the end of the night.”

Ron’s arm tightened ever so slightly around her.

“Evening.” Draco slid Hermione her drink. “One mojito with extra mint for my favourite coworker.”

“That’s my favourite drink. How did you—”

“You act like I don’t know you, Granger.”

She looked over at her silent friends and tried to bring them into the conversation. She was proud of Harry and Ron for trying, but it became painfully obvious how much all the men at the table struggled to pretend like they didn’t hate each other.

Ginny was a lot better at hiding her distaste for the man, but worse at acting like she didn’t think she was in a dream she couldn’t wake up from. Her eyes would often dart around the table with a dangling mouth.

Hermione really wanted everyone to like Draco just as much as she did. After a year of working together, he had already become such a big part of her life. She was positive that he could become just as important to her friends if given a chance.

She had been explaining Draco’s work history when Ron’s hand slipped to the inside of her thighs. His fingertips tapped a small pattern up and up and up. She looked down and then at Ron’s face with a pointed look. He looked ahead and sipped his drink far too innocently.

Despite Ron’s obvious attempts at drunken seduction, her fifth drink of the evening encouraged her to keep talking about Draco.

“Did you know that Draco actually went to Japan to study for his potion’s mastery?” Her hand reached out to touch his forearm. “He’s really smart.”

“That’s nice, Draco.” Ginny exchanged a glance with Harry. “I’m realising there’s a lot about you we don’t know.”

Draco looked up from Hermione’s lap with a smirk. “Thanks. I always value a good education, it helps get a good job. I know how important it is to be a working man.”

“Not only a good education,” Hermione laughed and nudged him in the ribs. “You went to the most impressive potions school possible. His mentor actually invented the Draught of Living Death! He basically studied under Merlin himself. Did you know that, Ron?”

Ron’s hand left her body as he reached for his drink. He nodded at her, an absent expression on his face.

“You know, Granger, I actually helped him with the revisions on his updated formula.”

She gave an embarrassingly loud squeal. “No way. Are you serious?”

“In fact, if you look in Magical Draughts and Potions, you’ll actually find that I’m credited.”

She looked back to see Harry whispering in Ginny’s ear. “Did you hear that? That is so cool. That’s not the only potion Draco’s involved with. In fact, he actually invented—”

“Hermione,” Ginny interrupted and stood abruptly, “come with me to the loo?” 

She jumped at the sudden interruption. “Yeah, of course.”

Ginny’s hand around her arm was a vise as she dragged the pair to privacy. She turned to face her, face as red as her hair.

“What are you doing?” Ginny hissed. “Is tonight compliment Malfoy night?” 

“What—”

“I get it. You like him a lot. He seems like an okay bloke, but you cannot spend an entire evening complimenting another man in front of my brother—your boyfriend.”

Hermione blinked in surprise. She calculated in her head how long she had been talking about him. She hadn’t meant to make a thing about him. He just had too many accomplishments; it was hard not to want to brag about him.

“I didn’t mean to... I want you all to like him,” she said in a small voice. 

“We never will if you keep making Ron feel inferior to him.”

“Ron’s not—”

“There’s no man in the world that would be happy with his girlfriend listing all the wonderful parts of a man that has more money, works a better job, spends more time with you and overall seems to make you flash your bedroom eyes at him.”

“Okay. Okay,” Hermione relented with her hands in the air. “I’ll tone it down.”

“That’s all I’m asking. Take it easy on him. You know he’s going through a tough time.” She looped her arm through Hermione’s.

They took a few steps out of the loo before Hermione stopped them with a grimace. “I am not flashing bedroom eyes at Draco... Am I?”

“You look like you’re going to ask him to make a litter of ferrets with you.” Ginny waved back at her husband, still sitting at the table. “Hey, I don’t blame you. He’s really, really hot. I’m thinking of ways I can ask Harry to bring him in as a third.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like either of them would agree to that.”

“I dunno. I’m told the whole hate sex thing can be really fun.”

Chapter Text

Draco’s cautious voice floated through the fireplace moments before he stepped out of the flames. “Theo told me I was obnoxious. I don’t remember most of last night. What did I do?” 

Hermione sat on the sofa, with a book open in her lap and a cup of tea cooling beside her, staring at him with her mouth agape. She quickly wiped the smeared makeup from underneath her eyes and tried to make herself presentable.

He sat next to her with a grimace on his face. “How bad was I?”

“Not horrible.”

“Oh, Merlin. That’s the best thing you have to say about me? I must have been awful.”

“Well… you may have been a bit, erm, emotional.”

He groaned and covered his face with his hands. “I am never drinking again.”

“Are you hungover?”

“No. Theo left me a potion. It’s only my pride that’s hurt.” He looked up at her through his fingers. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not, but I think it’s important for us to talk about it.”

He swore under his breath, dropping his hands to his thighs to tap out a distorted rhythm.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You didn’t do anything too bad. You simply… told me a lot of things.”

She reached out her hand to still his bouncing knee. It was a comfort for both of them.

“Fuck, I was vulnerable, wasn’t I? That’s even worse than I imagined.”

“Surprisingly, it was nice to see you struggle with everything,” she said. He raised his eyebrows at her. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you mean?”

“For months now, it’s seemed like I’m the only one dealing with all of this.”

Draco barked a laugh, but it quickly faded when she didn’t join him. “Wait. Are you serious?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. You seem to handle everything pretty well. Much better than me, especially.”

He opened his mouth, forming words that wouldn’t come. “Well, of course I miss you. I want things to go back to normal, but I also don’t want to rush you into anything you’re not ready for.”

“What exactly do you want?” she asked.

He blinked back in surprise at the question. He locked his eyes on the floorboards.

“I assumed what I want is obvious. I want… everything. But I don’t have any problems… waiting.”

“I’m really, really trying to get there. I think I’m at the stage where I want to be comfortable with everything,” she said.

It would be so simple to take the next step with Draco, but there was still something holding her back. There was an unknown force pulling her away from him, chaining her to her indecision.

“That’s… comforting.”

After what looked like a herculean effort, he met her eye and reached out to grab her hand. He spoke after a large inhale and exhale of air.

“Our relationship isn’t just a bunch of boxes that you need to tick off. We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Right, and if I said I wanted to be friends with you forever?”

He stilled. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“No. It’s not, but it seems like this,”—she motioned between the two of them with an aggressive wave of her hands—”is inevitable. It’s like there’s no point in me choosing anything because regardless of what I want, it’s what’s going to happen.”

“I don’t want you to think about that.” His eyes slammed shut, and he took a shaking breath. “Hermione… if you wanted us to stay like this forever, I’d say that’s sad, but I would handle it.”

“But that’s not very fair to you.”

“I don’t want you to think about—”

“No!” She slammed her hand down onto the couch cushion. “Stop playing the martyr all the time because you think it’s what’s best for me.”

His sigh moved the fringe on his forehead. “What do you want me to say? Any little thing I tell you ends with you freaking out or giving yourself a complex.”

“Last night you told me all about how miserable you’ve been, and I didn’t know about any of that.”

He scoffed. “You’re too smart to think I’ve been okay with you, the woman I love, suddenly treating me like a stranger?” His speech turned precise, consonants crisp. It was the only sign of his fight for control. “You can’t believe that I enjoy you not looking at me without getting embarrassed. And especially, do you honestly think I’m okay with my girlfriend… suddenly snogging her ex?”

“That’s not fair—”

“I know it isn’t. That’s why I’m not telling you any of it. Of course, I’ve been fucking miserable. But please, enlighten me, what would be the point in saying that to you?”

“Because we’re supposed to be partners. I want you to be honest with me and tell me how you really feel. I don’t want you confessing things to me only when you’re drunk.”

“It would have made you upset.”

“You never even tried.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands. “Okay. You want me to tell you how I feel?” He moved closer to her on the couch, and the sound of their breathing filled the small space between them. “My life has been one nightmare after another ever since you got hurt. Sometimes I just want to—Hermione, you can be so frustrating to be around sometimes. It seems like you’re doing everything to stop us or slam on the brakes.”

Red lights and stop signs flashed in her vision, but she pushed them to the side to focus on his face. At some point, their discussion had turned into a fight.

“I can’t say any of this to you,” Draco said. “Then I’d be risking the measly scraps of attention you barely want to give me.”

“I’m doing my best here.”

“And so am I! Fuck, Hermione, I must be an amazing actor if you don’t think this has been hard for me. It is torture to have you so close, but so far. But I put up with all of this because I know how amazing things can be between us.”

“I just need time.”

There was silence for a long moment. Long enough that Hermione worried he was going to walk away without responding.

“You can’t say you need time and space and then expect me to spill all of my feelings to you. You can’t have it both ways.”

“I know I can’t. I’d just appreciate it if you were more honest with me.”

“I don’t understand why you’re upset with me. It’s like everything I do drives you further away and our fate is inevitable. You’re just going to end up leaving the moment things get too real.”

“I don’t think I will,” she mumbled.

“But that’s the problem. You don’t think. I’m not willing to risk any of it. I don’t care how much I want more.”

She was so frustrated with herself and her indecision. She needed everything to just... stop. It would be simple if she could back away from it and no longer worry. She needed a holiday from her mind, and the stress of everything in her life.

At her lack of response, he kept speaking. “Years ago, I promised myself that I’d be okay just loving you from afar. And then somehow I’m magically able to convince you to change your mind. I won’t throw any of that away by pushing for more than you’re willing to give me.”

She wanted to reach out to him or crawl under her blanket and think about everything she thought she felt about him. She needed to leave, but she also couldn’t bear the thought of not staying.

“Hermione,” his strained voice came to her in almost a low whisper. Each word that came out expertly articulated. “You want me to talk? I’ll talk. Let me be perfectly clear with you. I want you, every bit of affection and emotion and whatever it is you can offer me. I want it all. Not because it’s what we used to do, or because it’s what you think I expect, but because it’s what we both want. Because I love you.”

A soft inhale of breath from her was the only indication of her emotion. Her entire body was taut and frozen against the back of the sofa. He had never said it without immediately taking it back, or speaking under the guise of the influence of alcohol. They were both stone cold sober as they looked at each other.

“I know we aren’t saying that. I know we’re just friends. But I also know that I fucking love you. That’s why I’m willing to go through all of this.”

“Oh.”

His eyes widened, and he scrambled to the other side of the sofa. “See, I freaked you out. That’s why I didn’t want to talk about all of this.”

“No, no, you didn’t.”

“You look pretty freaked out to me.”

“Just—give me a second.”

Why couldn’t she just give in? What was stopping her?

She pretended long enough to be his friend, then they became friends. What if... what if she just pretended to love him?

She didn’t realise she had moved until she sat centimetres away from his statuesque form. He’d quit breathing, his entire body frozen.

What was she doing?

She wondered if she should move away, but then his face turned minutely to the side and his long-suffering eyes moved to her lips. She turned off her brain for once in her goddamn life and let her instincts take over.

The moment her lips brushed against his, he took over in a flash. One hand caressed her jaw as he tilted her face. Each new experience came to her in a burst of uncertain excitement.

She felt the stiff angle her neck was bent at.

She felt her spine stretch and strain so she could reach him.

She felt the cramp that formed in her leg from the awkward seated position. 

She definitely felt her squeak when he tangled his hand into her hair.

But once all the pieces of the puzzle clicked together, and she realised what she was doing, she froze and pulled back.

“Did I just do that?” she asked as her fingertips rose to touch her lips. Their faces stayed close enough to have difficulty discerning whose breath came from who. “Did I really just kiss you?”

His wide eyes watched her. “Yeah, you definitely just did.”

“Merlin.”

“You can take it back if it’s too much. Do you want to take it back?”

“I don’t think so.” Hermione’s voice rose in pitch as she thought over the pleasant rush that had spread throughout her body and landed somewhere below.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

The moment between them was tense, balanced on a knife-edge.

He rubbed his neck. “So, uh, is this something that we can do again or...”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, let me know when you know,” he croaked. “Because, I would very much like to do—that again.”

They both looked a bit startled and out of sorts. His hair shot up in tangled angles. She hadn’t passively let him kiss her. His breaths were coming out short and hard, a pant instead of a relaxed, effortless exhale.

“Should I leave?” he asked after they had stared at each other for too long.

“No,” she said too quickly for her liking.

“Do you want to… talk about it some more?”

She shook her head.

He nodded. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” she squeaked.

“I guess I’ll just be sitting here... for whenever you know.”

He looked forward to the fireplace. His hand drifted up to his lips as a surprised laugh huffed out of him.

She could feel her breaths speed up as she stared at him through her panic. She thought about her sensible shoes, about drunken confessions, about Theo accusing her of torture. With only an ounce of trepidation, she spoke.

“Do you know how sometimes friends end up turning into more than that?”

His head whipped around to stare at her. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of that happening once or twice.”

“What if we... tried that?”

A small smile slowly grew on Draco's face until it was large enough to be blinding. “I think that would be nice.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“So do you mean for that to start now or...”

She played with her hands in her lap. “Um, maybe later. I think we should quit while we’re ahead. But... maybe tomorrow, if you’re not busy, we could... go on a date?”

His expression was bright. She thought he looked as if she had told him that his favourite quidditch team had just won the world cup, or the championship, or something. She wasn’t great with sports metaphors, especially not when she was still remembering the way her toes had curled during that kiss.

“Okay. That sounds good to me. Any specific date requests?”

“I don’t know? What about what we did on our first date?”

He jumped up from the couch, his eyes bright with an idea. “I can do that. Okay then, I guess I’ll go. Okay this was nice.”

“Yeah... nice. I’m glad we talked about—everything.”

He hesitated by the fireplace before his sly grin returned to his face. “Just so you know, I’ll always keep saying emotional things like that if it gets me that kind of reaction.”

“Any other professions of your love you’d like to say before you leave?”

His amorous expression threatened to tease out even more embarrassing contact between the two of them. “What else will it get me? I think I may need to save all my good confessions for something I really want.”

“Who says I’ll ever let you kiss me again?” Her skin tingled all over as she watched him leave.

“Who says I was talking about kissing you?” He smirked at her. “I have it on very good authority that I’m an amazing kisser. I don’t think I’ll need to confess anything more for another one of those. I probably already left you addicted.”

“Maybe I’ll get you to prove your skill to me again one day.”

“Promises, promises.” He gave her one last grin before he walked through the floo.

“Fuck, Granger. Let’s not take our anger out on the poor potion ingredients,” Theo said.

The interruption snapped Hermione out of her glower. Looking down, she found she’d been mashing newt eyes instead of turning it to the jelly-like consistency she needed.

“Oh, sorry,” she said.

Draco shifted in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

The eye she’d been smashing made a loud pop. Draco moved around the table and took the mortar and pestle with cautious eyes.

“I’m sure nothing is wrong, but these ingredients are expensive, so maybe we should put them aside for now.”

She rolled her eyes and handed it to him. “Okay, fine. I’m mad.”

“Really? I never would have guessed,” Theo deadpanned.

“What happened? You’re not mad at us, right?” Draco asked with a glance towards Theo.

“Of course not.” She sighed as she took a seat on the chair in the room’s corner. Her hand lifted to rub her eyes. “Ron and I got into a fight this morning.”

“Oh?” Draco’s voice came out slowly. He fixed his gaze firmly on the on the mashed newt eyes he was attempting to salvage.

“I’m so frustrated with everything,” Hermione sighed. Her focus was on his hands, which were muscular, with taut forearms and sturdy fingers.

It was this close examination that made her see how Draco’s hands froze in response to Theo’s word.

“Break up with Weasley,” Theo said.

“What? I’m not going to do that.”

Theo shrugged. “Why not? It would solve all our problems, wouldn’t it? Malfoy’s especially.”

Theo’s nonchalant words and casual demeanour shattered the stillness of the room. Draco and she quickly shifted their gaze to him.

“What?” Theo asked after their silence. “It would, wouldn’t it?”

A wave of panic coursed through her veins. She spoke slowly, trying to find the right words. “What do you mean, it would solve all our problems?”

“Granger, all I was saying is that Malfoy, being your closest friend has to hear you complain about that idiot all the time. I’m sure he’s tiring of it.”

“Oh.”

Draco’s eyes were still wide as he stared at nothing.

Theo’s laugh was dry. “You two look like you just saw a ghost,” he turned his head over both shoulders, “I don’t see anything. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Draco said quickly.

More laughter from Theo. “Did you think I was talking about something else?”

“N-No, of course not,” Hermione looked over at Draco, but he didn’t meet her eye.

“I — erm, I think I left the other ingredients out — okay.” Draco tried to walk out of the room, his hand firm on the back of his neck.

“No need to leave.” Theo stopped him with a sour smile. “I’ll go get the ‘other ingredients’. I want to stretch my legs.”

She and Draco stood frozen at the table. Theo stopped at the door, looking back at them.

“I swear you two are always overthinking everything I say. Makes me think you two are worried about things that I’m not.”

He laughed to himself as he left, leaving her frozen, her hands stuck halfway in the air with no task to attend to.

They continued in silence.

“That was weird,” Draco said, his eyes still fixed on the eyes.

“Do you think he has a point?”

“A point?” he asked in a forced casual tone.

She moved around the table to get space apart from him. “About me and Ron? Do you think we should... break up?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on the ingredients in front of him. His teeth chewed on his bottom lip, a habit she’d never seen from him.

“I don’t know what I’m even talking about.” She shook her head and tried a fake laugh. “Today was just an off-day. We have good days.”

“And a lot of bad ones too,” he whispered, then he looked up at her with a focused expression on his face. “You want to know what I think? Sometimes I wonder if you’re holding yourself back for him.”

“I’m not... holding myself back.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not. I swear.”

“Okay. If that’s what you think.”

She stared down at her hands. “I’m in a happy relationship.”

He held his hands up in defence. “I’m sure you are. It’s just—you complain about him a lot, Hermione. Have you ever wondered if maybe you’d be happier without him?”

“Y-you shouldn’t say things like that to me.”

“And why not?”

“Because... Well, Ron already thinks we’re inappropriate”

More than that, Ron had made himself clear about his feelings of distaste for Draco. He always claimed that he didn’t trust Draco’s intentions.

Sometimes, she didn’t trust Draco’s intentions either.

“What does that mean?” he asked.“Nothing...”

“Tell me.”

“He’s halfway convinced you’re trying to steal me from him.” She rolled her eyes as if that could take away the seriousness of what she was saying. It was the topic they always danced around, and she couldn’t believe how casually she spoke it.

She prepared herself for his smirk and his immediate refusal that he always did when the topic became too close to becoming real.

“Oh,” was all he said. A soft pink hue spread across Draco's cheeks.Why wasn’t he denying it?

Instead, he moved around the table with quick steps until he stood in front of her. Her body was so close to brushing against his chest, causing her breath to come out in aggressive bursts of air. She bent her neck at an uncomfortable angle so she could see his face towering over her.

“When—if,” he amended, “I start really trying to steal you from him, you’ll definitely know.”His hand reached out to tuck a curl behind her ear. His fingertips burned her cheek wherever it touched.

She swallowed, her eyes wide.

He was standing so close to her that the warmth of his breath kissed her face. “Now, do you want to chop the rose petals or do you want me to do it?” She shook herself out of her reverie and grabbed a handful of flowers.

“I’ll do it,” she said in a voice too hoarse for her own liking.

Chapter Text

Hermione would not freak out. She wouldn’t. She refused to let herself worry about this. She was ready for her date.

Yes, she was pacing, but that wasn’t because of nerves. It was for… exercise.

Not because of the nerves.

So what if she put on a dress she knew would be perfect for the evening. Then another. Then another. Then she huffed and threw all of her clothes to the floor.

That was how she ended up pacing her home in hair and makeup, wearing nothing but a bra and knickers.

It wasn’t until she heard the floo signalling Draco’s arrival that she scrambled to put on the nearest dress.

“Hermione?” Draco’s voice called from the living room.

“Just a minute.”

There was a pause, and then he said, “Are you having second thoughts?”

She huffed an indignant protest. “Of course not. Are you getting second thoughts?”

She was met with silence after asking the question, until suddenly, a loud laugh boomed through the door. All that did was make her slightly annoyed as she forced herself to decide what to wear.

When she finished, Hermione took careful breaths as she stared at her reflection. She could look worse. She gave herself five seconds to close her eyes and get over herself before she walked out of the room, head held high. Draco’s back was towards hers as his hand reached out to scratch Crookshanks.

Something about seeing a grown man hunched over to pet her old house cat had all her nerves dripping off her. She savoured the feeling, taking deep breaths to inhale her giddy anticipation.

She cleared her throat, and he whirled around to see her. His gaze swept over her, tracing the contour of her legs before lingering on the curve of her thighs.

“You look beautiful. You’re just—wow.” Draco whispered the words as if some outsider could steal the moment away if he were any louder.

“Thank you, you look great.” She motioned to the black dress robes he was wearing. “In fact, you look better than great. You’re very handsome. I don’t think I’ve told you that before, but you are.”

Whereas Draco showed his nerves with stolen glances and softly spoken compliments, Hermione’s was the opposite. She practically vibrated with the nervous energy.

“I’m glad you think I’m handsome,” he said, the corner of his lip lifting. “Would be rather awkward if you didn’t.”

She laughed, and he laughed, and then the air grew silent. It wasn’t an awkward silence. It was excitement. Their energy bounced back and forth, growing more intense with each rebound.

He reached his hand out in between them, his finger tracing down her palm. Hermione quickly tangled their fingers.

“So,” he said, “I have two things prepared for tonight. It’s your choice what you want to do.”

“I thought you were going to show me our first date.”

“Ah, but it’s much more complicated than that.” His eyes twinkled. “Do you want to see what I consider our first date to be or what you consider our first date?”

“There’s a difference?”

“Absolutely.”

“I guess let’s start with what happened, chronologically?” she said with a shrug.

Apparently, that was the right answer, because he grinned. “Good, I can show you what actually was our first date.”

“Is there a reason I don’t admit this was a date?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me why that is? Or would you like me to guess?” she teased. 

“It’ll be easier to show you.” He squeezed her hand with his. “Ready for a side-along?” 

"Absolutely not," she said, but her wide smile revealed her true thoughts.

To her surprise, they landed outside of the ministry. He didn’t let go of her hand as he led them inside.

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “If you think our first date was at the Ministry, I think I’m going to have to agree with my past self.”

“Oh hush up, I’m not an animal. This is for context. It all started here.” He raced them up the stairs. She walked closely at his heels, trying to keep up with him. She realised with a hint of surprise that he was leading her into her own office.

He looked around with a disgusted look. “I see you still haven’t bothered to clean anything in here since the 80s?”

“Ha. Ha. Want to explain why we’re here?”

“Patience is a virtue, Hermione,” he said as he put his hands on her shoulders. He manoeuvred her around so that she stood in a specific spot. “Don’t move.”

“Okay?”

He shuffled his feet around the room as if he was determining the best place to stand.

“It was right here,” he eventually said with finality. She looked at him like he had grown a third head.

“What was here?”

“This was where I was standing when I figured out I fancied the hell out of you.” 

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, it took me a couple of years to get over your lack of organisational skills and overall know- it-all-ness,” he continued despite her eye roll, “But yes, it was right here. I looked over at you and I knew I was fucked. I fell fast, and I fell hard.”

“Why?”

His eyes unfocused, lost in a memory she may have already remembered.

“We were working on this dumb energy boosting potion together. I had just organised all of our notes on the wall, and you were looking at them. You had a pen in your mouth and were chewing on it—a disgusting habit, by the way.”

“Wait... I dreamt about this.” The surroundings were slightly different. Today, there weren’t papers plastered on the wall, and she didn’t wear the ugly clothes she wore to the ministry, but she remembered this.

“You did?”

“Yes. So, that was when you fell for me?”

He looked down at her. His face wide and open as her eyes and breathed in his face. He looked beautiful as he reached forward to tuck a curl behind her ear.

“You got an idea. You looked at me with... I can’t even describe the look. You were radiant. It was impossible for anyone to look at you and not fall in love.”

“I’m sure I was thrilled about that.”

“Oh, you didn’t really know the extent of it, even when I was painfully obvious about it. You thought it was just a work flirtation thing. You were still dating that wanker, after all.”

“Draco, you have as many expressions as a hippogriff. I’m sure it was only obvious to you. All you did was look at me.”

“Yes, but you’re exceptionally oblivious. Theo noticed, almost immediately, and he delighted in making me look like a fool.”

“Draco Malfoy, a love-sick puppy. That’s something I would have liked to have seen.”

“I was horrible about it too.” He raised his eyebrows. “I made Theo stop working with us on projects so we could spend more time alone. I got him to play interference with Arthur so it could just be us two.”

“Well, to give myself the benefit of the doubt, I probably assumed they were busy,” she said.

“I always brought you something whenever I saw you. Tea, or breakfast, or even a rare book from the Manor that I thought you would enjoy having. Honestly, you’re lucky you dated me when you did. Mother was considering billing me for all the first editions I gave to you. I would have drained all of my vaults trying to impress you.”

“But that’s what a friend is supposed to do.”

Draco leaned forward, his mouth inches from her mouth. “You were oblivious, no matter how obvious it was to me. After all, do most colleagues take the time to lean in close when they are talking about potion ingredients?”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she breathed in the scent of peppermint from his breath. 

“Do they take the time to tell you how beautiful you look when you leave your hair down?” he said. He tucked a curl behind her ear. The feeling of his finger brushing against her cheekbone left her face flushed.

His fingers traced down her spine. “Do they find excuses to touch you when they think they can get away with it?”

She swallowed, then he backed away from her.

“I had this big elaborate plan to steal you from Weasley. I would owl you, or call you all the time with ideas about work or future projects we could work on together. That way you’d always be thinking about me.”

“I really didn’t notice?” She giggled at the thought of Draco Malfoy, head over heels for someone. “In the dreams, well—you seemed obvious to me.”

“Okay, you had some clue. You always talked about ‘boundaries’ with me. I never listened to them, but you never actually complained, so I kept doing what I was doing.” He rolled his eyes as his hand drifted to her back.

“Eventually, when I was on phase 11 of my plan,” Draco said, “I finally just said fuck it and asked you to grab drinks with me. Things had been pretty weird between us for a few weeks since—well, I thought spending time outside of work would do us good. I came to you with about 20 backup plans for any excuse you could make.”

He continued. “If you were worried about Weasley being uncomfortable with us being alone together, I’d bring Theo along. He would magically get sick and have to leave, of course. I made sure that I asked you during a week when you weren’t swamped with work. I even chose a pub for us to go to that you were familiar with so you wouldn’t be scared of the place.”

“Glad to know that the Sorting Hat put you in the right house. You are downright diabolical.”

“None of my meticulous planning even mattered. You and Weasley had already broken up!” he exclaimed, as if it were some sort of injustice.

“Only you would be mad that the girl you liked was single.”

“You did not tell me this. You had me thinking you were in a relationship for days when you weren’t. I would have been able to move to phase 15 if I knew you were single.”

She couldn’t help the laughs that escaped her as she listened to him. He was so alive as he gestured wildly about his master plan to get her to fall in love with him.

He gave a dramatic sigh. “I guess it’s for the best that you were a dirty liar. Knowing me, I probably would have planned some elaborate date and freaked you out. I was too focused on keeping things casual that I didn’t do that.”

“I’m sure I would have said yes to you no matter what you had for us.”

“Just wait. I haven’t got to the good part yet. You embarrass yourself immensely in this story.” He laughed.

“Wait, what?”

“I’m getting to it. Anyway, all my planning didn’t really matter. You said yes.”

“I told you I would.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit. You agreed, but only to drinks on a Sunday afternoon. The literal least-date time of all times. Plus, you told me all about how glad you were to be my friend again.”

“Ouch.”

“You ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on its remains.” He placed a hand on his chest. “I finally got you single, and suddenly I’m positive that you’re trying your hardest to let me know you don’t want me that way.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It obviously worked out okay. I ended up dating you. We even lived together.” 

“Yes, and that takes us to our next place.” He reached his hand out for hers and lead her out of the room.

After they apparated away, they arrived outside the door of a small restaurant on a street corner. He opened the door for her and motioned for her to walk in. The place was mostly empty apart from a few employees who were chatting in the corner and a couple sitting on red and silver barstools.

He leaned down to whisper, “Like I said, I was keeping it casual. This place is hideous enough I thought you’d be fine with it.”

A waitress saw them and waved. “Hey you two. I haven’t seen you guys in a while.”

Draco sighed when he saw her. “Thank Merlin you’re working tonight. I’m showing Hermione around all of our old date spots.”

The server’s smile faded. “Oh, I heard about your accident. I hope you’re doing okay.”

“Thank you, I’m doing much better.” She gave her a polite smile, looking up at Draco for some explanation of who this stranger was.

He ordered both of them something to drink, before his hand returned to her back, even lower than before. He led her to a booth in the back corner, and took the seat opposite of her with a smile.

“Who was that?” she asked, looking at the server that was behind the bar preparing their drinks.

“Her name is Rebecca.” he said as he leaned back in his booth. “She was our waitress during our first date.”

“Do we come here a lot?” She wasn’t sure if there were any servers that knew her as a regular. Even if she went to a place often enough to be recognised, she didn’t make it a habit to make small talk with the employees.

“Only when we’re feeling especially nostalgic. Although, sometimes we do come here when I feel the need to tease you a bit.”

They both thanked the server as she dropped off their butterbeers.

“She mainly remembers you because of the spectacular first impression you made,” Draco said.

“I’m guessing we’re getting to the part where I ‘embarrass the hell’ out of myself?”

“Absolutely. Okay, let me set the scene for you. I get to the pub, excited to see you because you’re always brilliant company, but also completely and utterly heartbroken because of your obvious lack of interest.”

She rolled her eyes at him while she motioned for him to continue.

“You looked gorgeous, which just added another dagger into my already bleeding heart.” He clutched his chest.

“How ever did you survive the heartache?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I’m glad you’re so concerned. It was a difficult thing to get past. As I was saying, I’m here on a Sunday afternoon about to get drinks with my ‘friend’. I come sit down at this booth, and before I’ve even fully sit down, you scream at me, ‘This is not a date! Even if we’re both beautiful looking.’”

“Why on Earth would I do that?”

“You were the drunkest I have ever seen you.” Her jaw dropped in horror, but he kept speaking. “You later told me you got here early and were so nervous you wanted a few drinks to calm you down. Those drinks turned into more.”

“Why would I yell at you?” For the first time since her accident, she found herself glad that she had forgotten something.

“You were afraid of me getting the wrong idea or something. You weren’t ready to date, but you didn’t want me to think you weren’t interested in me.”

“Other than scream at you that we weren’t on a date, do I even want to know what else I did?” She wanted to hide under the table so that he didn’t have to see the embarrassment on her face.

“I will say that having the girl of my dreams scream at me and say that we weren’t on a date hurt a little. I don’t want us to simply skip past that part.”

“Okay, I’m sorry I bruised your fragile ego. What else did I do?”

“You announced to the entire pub that I was ‘checking out your tits.’ Which I would like to say that I was not!” he said, then he paused a second. “At that point. I already checked you out earlier. As I mentioned, you showed up looking like a goddess.”

She raised an eyebrow at his leering. “What else?”

“You tried to tell me how attractive and fit you found me. You insinuated some very naughty things you do when you think of me when you’re alone. Which I would love for you to elaborate on whenever you get the chance.”

She lifted her hands to her head to hide her cringing.

“No, I didn’t,” she moaned.

“You begged for our date to have a ‘happy ending’,” he said with air quotes. “Obviously, I refused because as previously mentioned you were so pissed you barely knew your name.”

“Well, at least you were a gentleman about it.” She peered at him through her fingertips. He was grinning widely at her.

“Of course I was. Then you forced me to buy you a sobriety potion, so I’d feel comfortable—in the most tactful way possible—having my way with you.”

“Please tell me I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did. You practically assaulted me.”

Their server came over then to give them their refills. She looked at Hermione, who obscured her red cheeks with her hands.

“Is he telling you about the time you got very intoxicated here?” she asked. 

“Oh, I have a reputation here!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Only with me. I thought you were adorable,” Rebecca said, giving her a soft pat on the back. “You were so nervous about meeting him here, you didn’t realise how much you were drinking until it was too late.”

Draco nodded at her with a grave expression on his face. “In an embarrassing and mortifying way, yes, it was very cute.”

For the rest of their time at the bar, Draco and the waitress made comments about some of the things that she did that day. Almost as if they were trying to one-up each other with the embarrassing stories they could tell.

“I think I understand enough to never want to drink ever again.” She pushed her drink away from herself. “These are horrible stories.”

He laughed as he paid for their drinks and grabbed her hand to leave. “So after our date here—”

“No,” she challenged, “I agree with my past self. That doesn’t sound like a date. It sounds like I just embarrassed myself. There was no romance involved in that.”

“The moment you were sober, you snogged me within an inch of my life.”

She had already opened her mouth to argue, but paused as she actually understood what he said. Her mouth fell shut as she failed to find the words to express her disbelief.

“You tasted like booze and flobberworms. It was definitely one of the top five kisses of my life,” he said.

She shook her head after she thought over it for a few seconds. “No. That still doesn’t count as a date.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Nope.”

He leaned forward. “And what is a first date to Hermione Granger?”

“First dates need more romance. If it would have ended with you walking me to my door, kissing me on the cheek with a promise to write to me soon, that would have been a first date.”

“That sounds like it’s going to end with me discussing how many cows your father is going to give me in exchange for me taking you off his hands.” He laughed. “Besides, you kissed me. I hardly had a choice in the matter.”

“As if you would have said no if I asked you.”

“Well, of course not. I had been desperate to snog you for years.” He grabbed her hand again. “Lucky for you, our next date was about as romantic as I’m capable of. Want to go see it?”

Once she nodded, they apparated to a small restaurant on a street corner.

“This was where we started our second date.”

“First date,” she corrected for the sake of past-Hermione.

He rolled his eyes as he led her through the restaurant. To her surprise, they walked straight through the dining area and out the backdoor.

Although the sun was setting outside, she had no problem seeing anything. There were lights everywhere. They lined the tiny cobblestone path that led to a white tablecloth covered table. They floated in the air, occasionally twinkling close to her and then flying away. They hung underneath the wooden gazebo he led her to. There were even floating candles that bathed everything in a warm glow.

Draco looked pleased as he walked her to the table. He pulled out her chair, while she was busy looking around in awe.

“How did you get all of this done?”

He shrugged. “I can be very persuasive when I want something done the right way.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, I paid a lot of money, but in my defence it was all for the experience. You needed to see exactly how nice it looked the first time.”

He smirked as he poured her a glass from the wine already on the table. They tapped their glasses together before they both drank.

“Honestly, I think they’re still slightly scared of me from the first time I was here,” he said. 

“Why’s that?”

“I may have been slightly demanding the first time. I wasn’t sure if we were going to have another date, so I wanted everything to be perfect.”

“You did all of this for me, not once, but twice.”

She couldn’t decide which part of the date deserved more of her attention. Should she focus on the birds that flew across the pink and purple sky? Maybe the pleasurable breeze that tickled her neck? Even the distant sounds of the city were inviting to her.

She decided on none of them and instead stared at Draco. She had a feeling that he was the most worthy of her gaze.

“I’d do it every day if I could.” He watched her with as much intensity in his gaze as she felt.

Her throat was thick as she tried to wash down her emotions with her drink. They’d dined together countless times, but tonight felt different.

Usually Draco wasn’t the one to stammer over his nerves, but his behaviour left her baffled. He tapped his fingers in an inconsistent pattern on the table as he waited for her to say something else.

“What did we talk about the first time we were here?” she asked.

“I refused to stop talking. I was so nervous.”

She laughed. “Really? I’m sure I was a wreck. I was never good at first dates.”

“Actually, you were pretty confident on our second date. It was pretty much impossible for you to embarrass yourself worse than the first time.”

She reached her hand out to intertwine their fingers. Eating food with one hand made the task more difficult, but neither complained. Hermione relished in her drunk-like excitement over the evening.

Draco’s lip quirked as he looked down at their hands. “I babbled endlessly about whatever came to my mind. I was afraid if I stopped talking you’d get bored.”

She smiled against her glass. “That’s cute.”

“If cute is describing in excruciating detail exactly what I wrote about for each of my NEWTS, then yeah, I was bloody adorable.”

“That’s not a horrible topic when you’re on a date with me.”

“You’re right, but it was excessive. You eventually told me to calm down, which helped a little. And we’ve been together ever since.”

“How long did we date before we moved in?”

“Less than a year, actually. Maybe 3 months?”

“Seriously?” That didn’t seem particularly in-character for her. “That’s sudden.”

“We both knew.” He shrugged. “We didn’t see the point of waiting.”

She wanted to ask about marriage, about the future they had to have planned with each other, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.

If she bottle up the sensation of their easy conversations and stolen glances from across a table, she’d be a rich woman. It was a powerful drug, the feeling of her giddiness. Her heart beat fast as she stared into his eyes.

“What happened when dinner ended?” she asked when their plates were magically cleared from the table.

“I didn’t want the night to end, and neither did you. We ended up going for a walk in the park nearby,” he said slowly as he studied her.

She wiggled her fingers for him to take her away.

Park was a bit of a misnomer. It was closer to a small strip of grass and cement. She thought she may have seen a dead bird off to the corner. There was rubbish everywhere. 

Nothing had ever looked more beautiful to her.

The sun had fully set during their dinner. A small sliver of the moon visible through the clouds illuminated the ground in front of them. The slight chill in the air encouraged her to cuddle closer into Draco’s arm for warmth.

Neither mentioned the availability of warming charms.

He felt like sitting at the best table in a library with her favourite book in front of her. Like guessing the correct answer on an examination. Like a cup of tea brewed just right.

His calm and comforting presence and their cautious steps on a well-worn path punctuated the silence. As if they were blushing youths, they both stole glances at the other out of the sides of their eyes and would give small smiles when caught staring.

Hermione stopped their steps with a gentle touch to his shoulder. “Hey, Draco.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“For,”—her hand reached out to find the word—“everything.”

He smiled. “That’s a lot to thank someone for. I’m not sure I did everything.”

“You’ve been so—great.”

“I have done no less than you deserve.”

A heartbeat passed as he intertwined his fingers with hers. Neither broke eye contact. When he spoke again, his low, hoarse voice hypnotised her and gave her the confidence to move closer.

“I would do anything... anything for you. I knew all those years ago you were the woman I wanted. Every day, I wake up and I choose you again and again.”

His eyes were quick, never staying at one part of her face for long. They bounced from her eyes, her nose, her lips. He stared at her like she could disappear at any moment.

“I-I want to choose you too,” she said, her voice timid. It wasn’t bold enough a declaration, but it was all she had at the moment. 

“Hermione, you are the most important person in my life. You’re who I want to wake up next to, who I want to watch change the world, and who I want to make a life with. I will keep choosing you, as long as I have choices in me left to make.”

“When you say things like that, I can’t breathe.”

He stepped even closer to her; until she wasn’t sure where he started and she ended.

“You’re it for me, Hermione. From the moment I saw you stand in a messy office, eyes bright with an idea, I knew I was going to fight like hell to deserve you. I waited for you then, and I’ll wait for you now. Gladly.”

“Kiss me.” She twisted her hands into his shirt to pull him against her chest. “Kiss me until I remember, or kiss me until I forget I forgot. Just—kiss me. Please.” Her voice cracked.

His tentative hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and he pulled her into his gravitational pull. His face stayed moments away from hers, before finally—finally his lips brushed against hers.

She’d had many kisses in her life: the casual ones during games of truth or dare, the ones brought on by mutual passion and desire, the ones that you almost immediately regret. She’d had a pretty spectacular ‘I can’t believe we didn’t die’ kiss. There was even one with Draco filled with anxious thoughts of fights and loss.

Hermione didn’t think she’d ever had a kiss like the one she shared with him bathed in moonlight. It was a kiss of hope. It was a kiss of forgiveness. It was a kiss of love.

The kiss wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. It wasn’t something she thought she needed to do. There was absolutely no pressure. It was her choice. She wanted it.

Finally, after months of anxieties and dramas, something felt totally right between them. She didn’t feel rushed or in a hurry to do anything, more or less. Instead, a deep part of her memory hummed with the familiarity of her hands floating upwards so she could tangle her fingers into his hair. Nothing could ever feel as familiar as his lips against hers. His hands surrounded her face and his fingers stroking her cheeks.

Her stomach tumbled in an excited rush of emotions. Sure, she didn’t need anything more with him, but she so desperately wanted. She wanted more. More of him, more of his body pressed into hers, more of everything.

As if he was inside her head, his hands dropped from her face to run up and down her spine, sending a shiver throughout her. He finally rested them on her hips as he pushed her against him. Then, he tilted his head, and she had never felt such a powerful urge to remember something like she did with the intoxicating sensation of him opening his mouth for her.

It was vulnerable, experiencing as many things as she was all at once. Choosing him was like leaping into a pool without knowing how deep it was. It was thrilling and terrifying all wrapped into one luxurious package.

Everything that led to the unique feeling of being kissed by someone who loved her was a blessing. She sent a silent prayer to the heartache, doubt, uncertainties, the pain. Each were perfect gifts that showed exactly how important this moment was. She’d do it all again, would lose her memory, forget everything and everyone again, just so she could have experienced this once in her life.

When they separated, Draco rested his forehead against hers. 

“Wow,” she said in a breathless whisper.

They opened their eyes and laughed.

“You have such a way with words.”

“It wasn’t as impressive as your speech, but I think it got my message across.”

“I told you I’d keep confessing my love for you if it got me some action.” He teased, leaning closer to kiss her face. He mumbled his jokes into her skin. “I see a pattern emerging, I say how much I love you and you reward me with kisses. A rather Pavlovian way of getting me to open up, but I’m not complaining.”

“I’ve always thought psychology was my strong suit.”

His lips barely brushed hers as they travelled. Everywhere they could feasibly reach had his lips brush against it. “I’ve got months of kisses to make up for. I hope you realise what you’ve started.”

She let out a soft sigh as he sucked at a point underneath her neck. “It’s hard to think straight when you’re doing that.”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare.” This time, she grabbed his hand and apparated them back to the house.

In the privacy of her own four walls, she felt no reservations reintroducing herself to his lips as their hands wandered up and down each other’s bodies.

He pressed her into the sofa. Like a skilled archer, each spot that he knew would elicit strangled sighs and garbled moans were targets he aimed at.

They spend the rest of the night exploring and re-exploring one another.

~~~~~~~

Irritation flooded Hermione’s mind as powerful as a rushing river.

She crossed her arms and glared into the exasperated face of Ron.

“You promised me you wouldn’t see him again,” Ron said.

Hermione scoffed, “I never promised that. I just said I wouldn’t go to his house again. We work together, Ron! What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect to be able to trust my girlfriend.” The desperation in his voice sent a painful rush through her. “I don’t get how you can be so blind to this. He’s trying to break us up!”

“He is not doing that. I’m allowed to have friends! Even if they’re men.”

“Of course you are. All I’m asking is that you draw some clear lines and explain to him what’s appropriate and what isn’t.”

“He’s not acting inappropriately!”

Ron stomped to her kitchen table. He shoved a letter into her face. “Explain this, then!”

The letter was addressed to her in Draco’s neat penmanship. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him as she ripped the letter out of his hands. “Did you read my mail?”

“I had no choice! You keep bending the truth about him.” 

“I’m doing no such thing—”

“And I’m glad I did! Now I can see exactly how he talks to you.” 

He ripped the letter from her tight grasp. “‘Granger, you looked downright deadly in your skirt today, be careful about all the sideways glances you’re going to be getting when you wear that. Can’t have my wife looking so available.”

Hermione’s cheeks coloured. “That’s an inside joke.” 

“Oh, is it now? How about you explain it to me?”

“I—uh I—” When she thought about it closely, it didn’t seem very funny. “It’s just something he says about me because—okay, he shouldn’t have made the joke..”

Ron scoffed at her. “Am I supposed to be okay with another man making jokes like that about my girlfriend?”

“I’ll talk to him okay?”

“You do that. How about when you go get dinner with him? Or when you stay late at the ministry to work with him? Or when you spend the night at his bloody house! All you do is work with him and any time you don’t work you’re still with him!”

“I don’t spend all my time at work.” Hermione said, trying to defend herself from the least damnable offense.

“Yes, you do! You’re never around anymore, and when you are you don’t talk about anything other than that stupid job!”

“I will not apologise for having a life that’s more than just you.”

“All I want is for you to include me in this life you’re making for yourself!”

“Of course you’re included. Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m the dramatic one.” He moved even closer so that his face was inches from hers. His voice was pleading. “Hermione, I’m begging you. If you want things to work between us, you have to stop what you’re doing with him.”

“I can’t just stop working with him.”

“Hermione, all I need is—”

She was tired of listening to him.

“Stop. I’m tired of us having the same argument over and over again. Stop trying to sabotage my job so you can be more comfortable. It’s not my job to stop you from feeling emasculated.”

“I don’t feel emasculated.” He crossed his arms as he stared at her. He seemed to pull his whole body inward. “It’s just that he—”

“Why does Draco make you feel so badly about yourself? Why are you always so focused on him? You’ve never had problems like this with any of the other men I work with.”

“The others aren’t constantly trying to get in your knickers!”

“He is not doing that!” Her voice had risen so loudly she wondered if their neighbours would check in on them soon, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. “He is just a friend. How many times do I have to repeat this? Give me a number and I’ll go ahead and get it over with.” 

“You’re so fucking blind.” He shook his head in disgust.

“Do you know why I think you’re so threatened by Draco?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“He’s everything you’re not.” She started listing on her fingers. “He’s rich. He’s smart. He’s attractive. He’s actually got a job. And, best of all, he’s not content to just live in his best friend’s shadow!” She threw her hands in the air as she sneered at him.

Ron stumbled backwards as the weight of what she had said hit him. As soon as she saw the horror in his eyes, she knew her words had gone too far. All of his anger washed off his face, and he looked ill. For a deadly moment, they were both silent.

“How dare you?” His voice was quiet. “How—I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

How could she have said that to him? She took every insecurity and doubt that she knew he had and used them like a sharpened weapon aimed at his chest. What was wrong with her?

“Do you want to know what I think?” Ron’s disbelief had faded before she got the chance to apologise. His voice was no longer in shock, it was vicious. “I think you’re acting like a slut.”

Hermione gasped, but he looked far past the point of caring about her pain.

“I think you’re finally getting attention from men that you never got in school and it’s going to your head. I think you know Malfoy likes you and you’re playing with both of us.”

“I’m not doing—”

“I think you wish you could take a break from us, so you’d have your chance to do all you wanted with him before crawling back to me. Because you know he’s not right for you. But you can’t just fuck him to get it out of your system. No matter how much you might want to.”

They both stared at each other once his careful dissection of her had finished. Both of them had tears rushing down their face as they tried to control the sobs escaping them. He turned to leave.

“Ron, wait—” Hermione rushed forward to tangle her hand in his shirt. She tried to pull him close to her. “Ron, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I love you. Please don’t leave—”

He shoved her hands off of him, “I don’t want to stay here and watch you make a fool of yourself. I’m going out. I’ll be back... whenever.”

He gave her one last glare that felt like a punch in her gut before he left.

A sob ripped through her as he left her all alone. Her place had never felt as cold as it had just then. She needed someone to talk to.

She wanted her mum, or some family member she could talk to, knowing they would love her unconditionally. She wanted someone to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

Ginny would be with Ron. Harry was probably already trying to convince Ron that she was cheating on him. Luna or Neville wouldn’t know how to comfort her. The only person she actually wanted to see would be unforgivable for her to do.

She shouldn’t—

She couldn’t—

She walked to her fireplace, indecision weighing heavy in her heart. “Malfoy Manor!”

Chapter Text

In one night, gravity shifted between her and Draco. 

Like always, contradictions orbited Hermione wherever she went. Now their relation was as small as a speck of dust and large and intimidating as a black hole. 

As her comfort with Draco expanded, she found new ways to connect with him. The hours they had devoted to talking and learning about each other had ended abruptly as they found other ways to spend their time. 

Most days Draco barely had a moment to breathe before she’d try to smother his lips with hers. 

She didn’t love him. She didn’t stare at him with the same level of adoration as Draco did to Hermione. There were countless things she needed to figure out and memories to sift through. 

But as she traced her way down the column of his neck with lips, Hermione thought maybe, just maybe, Draco could be someone worth loving. 

Regardless, he never seemed to complain about her changing boundaries.

In fact, he actually cheered her on as she grabbed The List and took a black pen to the 10th item of the list. She took a second to admire all the extraneous rules and then launched herself at him.

“Just because I’m okay with you initiating romantic affections, doesn’t mean I’m ready to take it to the next level,” Hermione tried to say in between kisses. “Sexual relations are an entirely different—“

“Got it, no sex,” he hummed, barely stopping his onslaught to speak. 

“I’m serious, Draco no—”

He smothered her words with his lips.

Suddenly, Draco was with her more often than he wasn’t. What started with him joining her for lunch on occasion, led to a standing invitation for him to see her whenever he was free. He’d often floo into her house or her office at the ministry multiple times a day, even if it was just to talk to her for a few minutes.

He insisted they go on more dates. And she was never one to complain too much about someone wanting to do nice things for her. He wanted to show her all of their favourite locations, so most weekends he took her to outrageously expensive restaurants that, he claimed, were a necessity because of how much she had enjoyed it in the past.

After he’d spoil her with food and drink, they’d end up attached at the lips on the sofa, or against a wall. One time they even deliciously fell to the floor in a heap of touches and caresses.

She’d always have to break away mumbling her apologies or excuses that she couldn’t take things further, and even an “oh my god Draco if you do that thing to my neck one more time I’m going to forget all the very smart reasons I have to not sleep with you right now.”

Their weeks were definitely tamer, it was a lot harder for Draco to convince her to stop working long enough to spend what he named “quality” time with him.

They had got into a pretty good routine for the next few weeks and were about as happy as possible, all things considered. She even discovered something more fun than all the snogging they were doing.

Work.

Draco was a lot more help in trying to figure out how to reorient herself with everything she did. He seemed to involve himself with every project of hers, even the ones that didn’t involve potions.

She had finally felt like she. had fully reacquainted herself with her whole profession, so her next priority became finding what project she should start with. One day, sprawled out on the floor examining old case files, Draco had helped her come up with her breakthrough.

“I think you should do this one.” He tapped a file off to the side. “Seems like it could be a good one to start with.”

She reached for the proposal. It was an idea to work to take a memory enhancement potion and turn it into pill form.

“You’re just saying that because it involves potions.”

“Of course.” He leaned over to kiss her. “I miss working with you.”

“How is this any different from the project I was working on during my accident?”

“Changing potions into pills is not as difficult as inventing an entirely new potion. Besides, this one may help with your memory loss. Two kneazles with one stone and all that.”

“This seems like it could be interesting- Hmm, I wonder...” she trailed off as she moved to grab the notebook that Draco was already handing her.

They spent the rest of the evening crouched over the small notebook as they discussed potion ingredients and ideas with each other.

Their life became surrounded by memory loss, even more than it already had been. They spent most of their time going over developing a preliminary trial for the potion conversion. As soon as they finished the first proposal to the Board for Muggle and Magical Technology, they’d be ready to start their experiments.

Her memory loss felt like solving a 1000 piece monochromatic puzzle. Each time she thought she was figuring something out, she had a setback that made her start all over.

For the first time in her life, she believed she could lean on Draco. He explained many of her memories to her. He laughed at a lot of them, explaining his mindset during the dreams he featured in. He seemed to take everything a lot better than her. Each memory she got was painful. She was closer to answers but further from everything at once.

She didn’t pay much attention to Ron whenever Draco was around. That was for her sleepless nights, tossing and turning while she mulled about everything that went wrong. 

It was hard to focus on the dissolution of her relationship with Ron, and by extension Harry, when she was so focused on how new and nice everything felt with Draco.

One evening, after they’d finished eating, they watched a movie together. What started as both of them maintaining a respectable distance from one another somehow led to her lying on top of him.

Occasionally, she’d interrupt their viewing of the movie so she could press a kiss on his lips, or his chin, or his jaw. Their distractions would then force them to have to rewind the film so they could see what they missed.

It turned a 2-hour film into an all-evening event.

The ease and desperation that she felt when he touched her surprised her. She had to invent excuses in her mind to prevent her from always grinding atop him like a hormonal teenager. Apparently somethings were ingrained in her muscle memory, despite everything.

She pressed her head even further into his chest so she could listen to the sound of his heart beating. The sound comforted her so much that she felt her eyes closing despite herself. 

Just before she had drifted off to sleep, she noticed a woman sitting in the room's corner. Her eyes flew open.

The lady was gone.

It was like a snitch, fluttering in front of her face before it zoomed out of her reach. The spirit left almost as soon as it appeared. 

Draco seemed to notice her body had tensed against him. He looked down at her with a furrowed brow.

“You okay?”

Unable to trust her words, she nodded.

“You don’t look okay. What’s wrong?” He sat up so he could look at her better.

“I think I need to use the loo.” She pushed herself off of him and walked away from the sofa.

His concern disappeared as he snorted at her. “Are you embarrassed to tell me you have to use the toilet?”

“No, of course not I don’t—”

“Hermione, I’ve got bad news for you.” He shook his head at her. “you’ve actually pooped in front of me. I know it’s horror-inducing.”

She pressed her lips together as she watched him make fun of her. She was mature enough to not get embarrassed by the human parts of herself, but she realised it was probably prudent to capitalise on the excuse he offered her.

“Yeah, I’m embarrassed okay?” She sighed and hoped the annoyance in her voice didn’t expose her as the liar she was. He rolled his eyes at her as he motioned for her to leave.

“Would you like to stop the movie before you go? So you don’t miss anything?”

Hermione blinked rapidly. “Nope, I think I’m fine.”

His frown returned. “If you’re sure you’re fine...”

“I’ll be right back,” she squeaked as she kissed him on his forehead before she practically ran to get privacy from him.

Alone in the bathroom, her first order of business was convincing her breathing to slow down. She stared at her reflection in desperation as she counted back from 100. Once she took care of her breathing, she focused on her racing mind. She couldn’t quell the questions crashing into her.

What the fuck did all that mean? 

“You’re fine,” Hermione said to her reflection. “Calm down.” 

She took another deep breath and leaned down to wash her face with cool water. 

She had to hold in her scream when she looked in the mirror.

There were flames in the eyes that were staring back at her. She slammed her eyes shut as her hand came up to rub them. 

When she opened her eyes again, all she found was her typical brown. 

She was exhausted. That’s what this was. She was exhausted and needed sleep. She’d tell Draco she’d need to end the night early and then would feel better once she was fully rested. 

That was when she heard it. She heard it.

Hello.

“This is not real,” Hermione said. “You’re not here right now.”

But it was real. It was that stupid Clover thing, or whatever Kingsley had told her. Its voice in her head smothered her.

You’re not trying harder at all.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Head.”

Hermione dear, I just want what’s best for you.

The pressure of the noises in her brain felt like a screwdriver ramming into her skull. It hurt as bad as it had in the department of mysteries. Nausea flew through her body, but Hermione couldn’t tell if it was because of the throbbing in her head or the crushing feeling of the voice in her head.

You need to try harder with him.

She tried to breathe through her pain, but every bit of movement caused a soft cry to escape.

Are you not paying attention to the dreams I’m showing you?

“I am. I don’t see a point to them.” 

You miss Ron. Let me help you.

“Please stop trying to interfere in my life.” Her begging came out as something closer to a sob. “I’m happy with Draco.”

That’s not what’s important. 

Then, as soon as the pressure arrived, it disappeared. It was just her in her brain. She looked back at herself in the mirror. The frightened expression brought her back to reality. She almost laughed at herself. What was going on with her?

She stood for a couple of moments, considering what had just happened. She felt some slight relief because when the voice left, the pain in her head faded.

Then she got angry.

Why did this spirit seem to think that she couldn’t make her own choices? Why did everyone and everything try to second guess her at every crossroads? She didn’t ask to be anyone’s pet project.

She wanted Draco. She was happy with him. He was so good to her, and he so obviously loved her.

And, if she were honest with herself, she was actually starting to return those feelings. No.

She already returned those feelings.

She was in love with Draco Malfoy.

Right?

She juggled the thoughts in her brain before she decided to blindly accept the thought. She grew calmer when she came to terms with her revelation. 

As she walked back to him, she tried to school her expression. It was a virtually impossible task, especially when it felt as if needles were still stabbing her brain. She was still wincing when Draco could finally see her again.

“You’re not okay,” he said with a furrowed brow. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.” 

“I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head to prevent the conversation from continuing. “My head is killing me right now.”

His expression shifted to panic at once. “Do we need to go to St. Mungo’s?” 

“No, I don’t think so. I just need to get over it.” 

“Well, come here then.”

As she sat next to him, his cool hands brushed against her temples as he tried to rub the headache out of her.

You are abandoning him again.

She clenched her teeth and tried to force the voice to stop. Her head was pounding.

You cannot keep choosing him over Ron.

“Is this helping at all?”

She smiled up at him. “You help me.”

You will do what I want.

He leaned forward to kiss her. The second their lips connected, a searing pain zapped her straight through her skull. She tried not to wince or jerk away from him.

He paused when he noticed she had stilled against him. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked.

“Just a lot of brain stuff in one day. I’ll be alright.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He can stop.

She didn’t think she had ever had someone care about her as he did. He just kept giving and giving parts of himself to her. He didn’t deserve any of the hell that she had been putting him through.

“Yes.” She sat up so she could crawl on top of him. She surrounded his legs with her thighs. His eyes were wide as she leaned to whisper in his ear, “There’s so much you can do to help.”

Without a second thought to the spirit, she smashed their faces together. She twisted her hand in his shirt to pull him to her.

Draco, to his credit, got over his surprise rather quickly and he responded to her with an eagerness of his own. She ground her body into his as she made it her mission to overwhelm him with her lips.

She was choosing this. She was choosing him.

“I’m not sure how this is helping your headache, but I’m always happy to be of service.” He panted, his breath floated across her face.

Her eyes roamed all over him. Her grazing fingers had rumbled his hair and popped open a couple of buttons from his shirt. 

He was so beautiful. She was so tired of her wavering and indecision. She knew what she wanted. She could make her own choices. She wanted to prove that she had the final autonomy over her life.

So she jumped headfirst into her decision with no possible feelings of regret.

“I love you,” she said.

His face changed from one of desire into one of elation.

“Say it again,” he demanded with a laugh. He moved his hands to rest firm on her hips. She repeated it to him again and again as his mouth travelled up and down her neck.

She did love him.

She did.

She loved him.

She wasn’t sure why she had felt she had to keep repeating that fact to herself. 

He looked like he was about to burst from joy.

“I love you so much. I’ve wanted to say it for months now,” he said. She gave him an exhausted nod and laughed at his excitement. He flipped their bodies so that he was resting on top of her.

I told you to stop this.

“I love you so much sometimes I don’t think I can breathe,” he told her as he pulled her closer to him.

She had to strain to hear him. The voice in her head steadily grew louder each moment. It felt like she was drawing in the conflicting sensations of his love and the spirit’s anger.

You will do what I want.

“I think we’re-”

You have chosen him over Ron too many times.

“-going to be okay.”

I will not let it happen.

“I didn’t know if-”

You chose wrong.

“-all this time I’ve been hoping but-”

You will not make the same mistakes.

“Oh Merlin, Hermione, I love you so much.”

You will do it differently this time.

“I love you too,” she said as confidently as she could manage.

Do you really?

His wide smile quieted the voices in her head somewhat.

The words echoed in her mind as she stepped into Malfoy Manor: ‘You’re acting like a slut.’

How dare he? How dare Ron accuse her of such things? She had done nothing with Draco. He didn’t even look at her like that.

Right?

She shouldn’t have gone to his house. This was a mistake. Oh, Merlin, this was such a mistake. She should leave before anything happened.

Despite her rush of thoughts, she kept walking forward.

“Draco!” Her voice echoed through the wide and empty halls. “Draco, are you here?”

She searched through him, opening random doors, trying to find him. What was she doing? Searching through a house she had only been through for a handful of times for what? So he could comfort her? Comfort her how?

She threw open a door and walked straight into someone’s back.

Theo looked down at her with a shocked expression. “Standing right here. What the fuck is your problem?” His eyes searched her face, each second adding to his confusion. “Oh. Seriously, what happened to you? You look like someone told you you got an E on your OWLs.”

She looked over his shoulder to find Draco standing behind him with wide eyes. “Leave her alone Theo. What’s wrong Granger?”

Her darting gaze flickered between him and Theo, both of whom looked at her in confusion. She shook her head.

“No, I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Well, you already did,” Draco said, stepping forward to put a soft hand on her shoulder. She jerked out of his grasp, which prompted an even more surprised expression from him. “Okay.. How about you come sit down and tell me why you’re crying?”

“I had a fight with Ron. Now that I’m here, it seems sort of stupid. It wasn’t even a big deal.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m glad that you’re here. We can talk about it. What did you fight about?”

Her eyes flickered to where Theo had leaned against the wall. He watched the two of them with an amused expression. Draco followed her eyes.

“I can kick Theo out if that would make you feel better.”

“No!” Her screech had both boys widening their eyes. “I mean, I want his opinion too.” 

Theo tilted his head. His amusement shifted into one of pure delight.

“Yeah, because my specialty is ‘talking about feelings,” Theo said with a sarcastic tone, “or, what I think is more likely, is that our dear friend here is afraid of being alone with you. Especially when she’s feeling vulnerable. I’m not remotely interested in her, so I’m safe. You, you’re dangerous.”

“Theo, that’s not what I’m—”

“I think the big elephant in the room is about to come out, isn’t it, Granger? Want to explain to the class how much you love—”

“Shut up, Theo,” Draco said through clenched teeth.

“If I’m wrong, then let me leave, Granger. I don’t fancy playing the chaperone for two adults who have absolutely no feelings for each other.”

She hesitated.

“If you have nothing to worry about, I should be able to leave. I don’t want to stay here.” Theo arched a brow, a challenging expression on his face.

Her mouth opened in horror as she recognised the trap for what it was. She was stuck. There was no way for her to ask him to stay without revealing why she wanted him there.

“I-I don’t need you to stay. I can be alone with Draco.”

She could be alone with Draco. But should she?

Theo waved his fingers at them and waltzed out the room. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

With just the two of them, the spacious room felt constricting. Draco took a tentative step towards her. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Talk to me.”

“I already told you, Ron and I fought.”

“What about?”

“You.”

“Oh.”

They were both silent as they watched each other. Her breath became shallow as she stared into his intense expression.

“He said some very mean things.” She felt like a toddler. Maybe if she talked in brief sentences, everything would become easier. Maybe everything would make sense.

“What-what did he say?”

“He called me a slut.” Hermione said. “He said I was leading you on.”

“That’s so far from the truth.”

“I think we’re going to break up,” Hermione said with a hopeless voice, focusing her eyes on his floor.

“Is that what you want?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “What does it matter? I’m just a cold-hearted bitch.”

“You’re not. What do you want?”

He took another step closer.

She shook her head and backed away from him. “What I want doesn’t matter. I’ve been horrible, to you, to him, to everyone.”

Another step. “What do you want?”

“I’ve been so cruel to him. I can’t—”

“What do you want?”

“That’s not important.” A desperate sob threatened to wrench itself from her throat as she stared into his determined expression.

“God-dammit, Hermione, what do you want? Forget about me. Forget about him. Forget about everything else. Tell me, what do you want?”

He stood right in front of her, his body almost pressed her into the wall that she had backed into. He was too much all around her, his gaze trapping her in place.

“Because, I’ll tell you what I want,” he said. His voice was so close to her it vibrated through his chest and into hers. “I want you. I want you so badly it hurts. I’m so fucking in love with you that being around you makes me miserable.”

Her mind went blank as she stared into his unyielding eyes.

“Now tell me, what do you want?” he repeated. His voice felt like a glass of water to someone stuck in the desert.

“You. I want you,” she whispered.

He let out a shaking breath, small smile forming on his lips and reached out to touch her. His hands finally made contact. One caressed her cheek and the other tangled in her hair.

He leaned down towards her, and she felt her face angling towards him against her will. They were moments apart as they swallowed the same air. She wanted to press his body into hers, to grab him and never let go.

He paused, millimetres from pressing his lips into hers. She had never felt a desperate ache like that before. She wanted to wash herself in his body. To savour the sensations of him pressed against her.

Her eyes stared into his blown pupils. His shallow breaths blew across her face. He waited for her to make a move, to do anything. She shut her eyes, leaning in closer. She had a hunger for him she had never felt with Ron.

Ron.

Suddenly, she remembered exactly what she had been trying so hard to make herself forget.

“S-stop.”

He froze against her before she ripped away from his grasp.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I almost did that. I have a boyfriend. What’s wrong with me?”

“Wait—”

“You were going to let me do that! Oh my god. I have to go.”

“No wait, Hermione, talk to me.” He was like a coiled spring, pulled tight and ready to burst. She didn’t want to look at him any longer. She put her head in her hands and cried.

“What’s wrong with me?”

She was an awful, awful person. How could she almost do the exact thing that Ron had accused her of? Even if she had initiated no physical contact between herself and him, what she had done had been the ultimate betrayal. How could she do that? To Ron? The man she loved?

Draco pulled her hands from her face, his eyes intense on hers.

“Hermione, I’m so sorry.” Draco rubbed soft circles into her back as her sobs continued without stopping. “I shouldn’t have done that. That was so stupid.”

“You did nothing wrong,” she said, trying to stop his look of devastation from hurting her even more than she already was. “This is my fault. I knew something like this would happen if I came here.”

“I know you did.”

“Draco, I don’t know what to do. I can’t—”

His hand dragged her face upwards so she was looking at him. “You can. Hermione, you can. We can just—”

She shook her head in his hold. “I can’t leave Ron. Not now. Not when he’s going through— everything. I can’t do that to him.”

“He doesn’t deserve someone that will stay with him just because he’s having a hard time. That will just make both of you miserable. You don’t even love him.”

Hermione felt her heart breaking with each desperate twitch of his fingers against her cheeks. “He’s my first love. I can’t—”

“He doesn’t have to be your last love. What about me?” His feverish eyes burned into hers and made her want to flee and scramble for safety. He was too dangerous. “Have I been imagining things? Am I delusional? Because I thought maybe you...”

She was silent. She couldn’t lie to him and tell him that nothing was going on between him.

“He doesn’t deserve you. You should be with someone who makes you happy. You deserve to be with someone who loves you as much as you love them, and I think that could be us.”

“I can’t,” Hermione said with a sob. “I won’t be with you. I owe it to Ron, to all the years we’ve been together to give us a chance. We can’t be together.”

His eyes slammed shut. For one horrible moment, she watched every emotion flicker across Draco’s face until he smoothed his grimace into a blank stare.

“I know you won’t,” he said slowly. “You love your lost causes. But, I-I want to beg you to leave him anyway — so badly.”

He opened his eyes. The question in them pierced her soul. 

He’d beg if she gave him even the smallest hope.

He reached out a finger to twirl one of her curls. His breathing seemed infinite as he tried to get control of his emotions.

His eyes watered before he squeezed his eyes shut again. He alternated between grimacing with a closed off expression and staring at her with desolate hope. “Okay,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Okay?”

“I won’t try anything if it’s not going to happen. I won’t force you to make a choice you don’t want.” He played with her hair for too long before he dropped a curl and then took careful steps away from her.

“Draco I—”

“Don’t say anything else.” The world paused for a moment, before Draco shook himself. He smiled ruefully. “In fact, I’m taking the choice away from you. I’m not an option anymore. Not now.”

“What?”

“Go work things out with Weasley. If you don’t give him a chance, you’ll always regret it.” She nodded, her wet eyes wide. She moved towards the door, waiting for him to follow her.

“I’m going to stay here. Try to ease my bruised ego. You should probably go. It won’t be pretty watching me sort through all this emotional nonsense.” He grimaced.

She gave a half-hearted laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Don’t feel bad on my part, I knew what I was getting myself into when I fell for you.” 

She turned her back to him.

“If you—” he started before he paused, “if you change your mind...”

“I know. I will.”

Chapter Text

Hermione woke covered in sweat and mortification. The dread of her past and present seeped into her bones and dripped out beneath her. 

Like most mornings, Hermione woke as a stranger to herself. Her past had been a familiar stranger, someone she was used to not knowing. Now, her impulsive present was someone she had no knowledge of. Her behaviour was inexcusable, both the night prior and what had happened years ago. She was a traitor to everyone she knew. 

From Ron to Draco, she’d proven she was hopeless when it came to relationships. 

Why in the world would she tell Draco she loved him? What was her reasoning? To prove a point to someone that didn't even exist? 

Oh Merlin. 

She rolled over and muffled her groans into her pillow. 

She was a bad person. How could she have done that? 

The worst part of it was that she was so close to simply loving him. She was fond of him. She had strong feelings about him, but she wasn't on the same level that he so obviously was with her. 

She wasn't ready for— 

She didn't— 

Did she? 

She'd just met him, at least that's what it felt like. There was so much she didn't know about him, so much she still had to figure out. In her mind, she'd only just broken up with Ron, a man she had definitely loved. 

Draco was a whirlwind that took over every part of herself. They'd vaulted from strangers to friends to something more too quickly for comfort. 

It was an inevitable admission. Hermione didn't love Draco. Not yet. She was so close, so impossibly close, but the small distance in her feelings was a wide cavern. Uncrossable and too distant.

It was too much for her. Too soon. But since she was so close, maybe she could just... pretend. She'd love him, pretend to at least. Then she'd fall in love with him for real. She took a calming breath. Everything was going to be okay. She could figure this out. She would.

Hello . The voice slimmed its way back into her consciousness. What did you think about the memory I showed you? 

Of course. The voice was back. Her unwanted visitor had a way of appearing at any opportune time. 

"I didn't think about it at all,” Hermione said to the empty room. “I have other things to concern myself with." 

Hmm, a pity.

Silence spread throughout the room. But Hermione wasn’t alone. The spirit’s presence lingered somewhere in the air. Hermione briefly considered taking her hands and slamming them against her temples.

Why do you fight the messages I show you? The spirit’s tone was sweet, syrupy. It was like Mum, coming into her room to tuck her in at night. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” She begged. “I am happy. You are trying to ruin it.” 

With a soft laugh, the spirit left Hermione stranded alone with her thoughts.

Her injury had completely, utterly isolated her. She didn't have her 323 friends, Ron, and now, she didn't even have Draco to turn to. She wanted so desperately to communicate everything she was feeling to someone, but there was no one safe enough to tell.

How could she explain her spur-of-the-moment lies to him? What was the best way to phrase: 'hey, remember how I told you I love you? Well... on second thought, I'm not sure I actually do. I really only said it to prove a point to the psychopathic spirit that wants me to leave you for my ex. Sorry about that." 

She wasn't sure they'd make it past that. And she wanted to make it work with Draco. Desperately so. 

A scream was building in her throat, waiting to yell at the series of circumstances leading to such horrible indecision. 

Then, at once, she blinked and it was all over. She compartmentalised in her head. Draco and Ron were placed in two separate boxes away from everything else. 

Besides, there was only so long she could lie in her misery in bed, before she had to get up and get dressed. Like most days, Draco was planning on visiting her soon. 

She waited for him with a caught breath. When he walked in through the floo, he vibrated with his excitement.

"I love you," he said with a sigh. He immediately moved to her and wrapped his arms around her. It looked like a weight had slid from his shoulders. "That feels so good to say." 

She watched him, innocent-eyed and sparkling, and felt the truth boil up and out of her. She opened her mouth, prepared to spill every secret she had. She couldn't keep this from him. She had to confide in him. 

Before she told everything to Draco, her body seized and she froze. She couldn't have said the truth even if her life depended on it. The magic kept her from doing anything drastic, anything life-ruining.

Not a good idea. 

Hermione didn’t know if it was her keeping the secret in or the spirit making her lie. 

Was there even a difference? 

She stared at him, desperate for some sort of communication with the man she wanted to fall in love with. 

"I love you so much," Draco repeated. "I love you too," she said unwillingly. 

The sensation of his lips under her jaw dulled the sharp sting of guilt as she stared at their list of rules hanging on the wall. 

Specifically, the part clarifying that she shouldn't lie to Draco. 

She could pretend until she actually did. 

She was almost there. 

She was. 

She was definitely close. 

So close.

He seemed even more attached to her. He held her to his chest and spoke all about how confident he was in their relationship. 

Hermione tried to reciprocate as well as she could given her current mental state. She felt a confession on the tip of her tongue, but before she could say anything, she felt her mouth clamp shut. 

He looked so happy, and, well, what could he do to help her? It would just make him worry. They were on such tentative ground as it was. 

She blinked up at him when he asked her something she didn't hear. 

"Are you okay?" he asked. Like a flip switched, his face morphed into one of concern. 

"I don't—Yeah, I'm fine." She shook herself, trying to regain her composure. 

He didn’t believe her. With good reason, she supposed. She searched her mind for something clear that could help her 

"I had another memory dream, thing last night." 

He straightened in his chair. 

"It bothered me, I guess,” Hermione said. 

"What happened in it?" 

“I had just gotten into a fight w-with,” she stammered, surprised at how nervous she was. “With Ron, and I went to see you…” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah… oh.” 

“Well, that was a fucking awful day.” 

“Yeah, I imagine it was.”

Draco squirmed in his seat, his unease radiating through his skin. "It was... hard. I thought I had lost my chance with you and—well it was horrible." 

He laughed uncomfortably, his eyes shifting around the room. "Do you want to talk about it more?" 

"I don't think so," she said. He sighed, relaxation evident in the way his shoulders dropped and he smiled sadly. "I just want to say I'm... sorry." 

"What for?" 

"I didn't realise... how Ron could make you feel. I didn't know he would be… I'm sorry for everything I did right after my injury, and.. everything else." 

Draco nodded, avoiding eye contact. "It's good. We're good now, right?" 

Hermione smiled, the unease that left Draco spread to her. "Yeah, we're good." 

Her face twisted, waiting for him to say something else. 

"Want to snog?” he asked, and then grinned when she threw herself at him. 

It was much easier to assuage her guilt when she didn't have the opportunity to confess any of her lies. 

Being with him felt wonderful. There was the muscle memory, embedded deep within her body, that had this all feeling like a familiar hum. But more than that, there was him. His body. His wandering hands. His skin underneath her from where she had unbuttoned his shirt.

When they parted, both panting, lips swollen, she stared at him. Part of her brain was so tempted to say to hell with all her objections. She could sleep with him, see what he looked like naked, on top of her. It would be wonderful. 

He wasn’t pressuring her to have sex with him, but she knew it couldn’t be easy for him to wait. It wasn't easy for her. 

It was a mental block for her. She desperately wanted to sleep with him, but every time she tried to initiate anything she’d either get frightened or lose her confidence. Something inside her told her it would be too big a betrayal to sleep with someone even under the smallest of pretences. 

He pulled apart from her, when the heat form his lips became too much to breathe. He smiled down at her. 

"I'm actually impressed with us." 

"Yeah?" 

"Look how much progress we've made. We did all of this. We've been through the impossible, and we're getting through it just by learning how to communicate again." 

Poor naïve fool. 

Hermione bit her tongue until it bled. 

He kissed her again a small brush of his lips against hers. "I'm sorry we're not... you know." 

"Don't be." 

"But—"

“Do I look like I’m complaining?” he said. 

“No but-“ 

“Listen, you won’t hear any complaints if you want to have sex right now, but you aren’t ready and that’s okay.” 

“So if I told you I was ready right now you’d…” Her voice trailed off. 

He pulled her hips down so that he was flush with her. “I’d carry you to the bedroom and finally have my way with him.” His voice was practically purring in her ears. 

"And what would you do first?" she asked. 

He leaned forward to kiss her once more. 

"Being cheeky now aren't we?" he said, he kissed her neck. Lower and lower again. 

"I'd start here. Before moving down." 

His lips felt like heaven against her skin. 

"Oh, I think that would be fun." 

"I've never heard any complaints from you." 

"What's my favourite thing you do to me?" 

He smirked, his eyes bright and mischievous. "You're making me think about naughty things. You're making me think this is a possibility between us."

"I think it will be very soon." 

"I love the sound of that. I love you." 

She thought to herself for a few moments before a sly grin appeared on her face. “I’m ready now.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Kidding!” 

“Funny.” He deadpanned.

 “Actually, I’m ready now!” 

“I’m not going to fall for it.” 

“Please take me now, Draco.”

 At that point he shook his head and then pounced on her, whereas his hands had previously travelled up and down her back leaving fire in their wake. They were currently rushing towards her side as he poked her in the stomach. She laughed as he continued tickling her. 

She was happy. 

She would stay happy. She was sure of it. 

Theo's hand shot out to stop her from leaving her office. "What the fuck 330 do you think you're doing?"

"What are you talking about?" 

"I'm talking about the fact that you've been stringing Draco along for months. You flirt with him. You talk to him all the time. And what? You're just going to choose that idiot over him?" 

"Excuse me—" 

"I'm not finished." His voice was deadly. 

Theo hadn't been this intimidating to her in years. It made her take a step back from him. 

Theo moved forward, not allowing her the grace of space. "If you don't want to be with him that's fine. I don't give a fuck who either of you sleep with. I have bigger things in my life to worry about. But if you love him, even as a friend, you cannot keep doing this to him." 

"I—" 

"Still talking. Look, for whatever fucking reason you're with Weasley. Again, don't care. But you can't have it both ways. You can't have the boyfriend and the guy that's in love with you. If you don't want him, then stop acting like you do. Because he's not going to quit. If you keep stringing him along and giving him false hope, he's not going to move on. And you're not so heartless that you'd want that for him." 

Hermione searched for a response that was adequate, but nothing was there. She stared down at her shoes. 

"Under normal circumstances, I'd actually sort of like you. But he's my best friend. I am telling you the things he wishes he could. You've got to stop. You can't keep working with him all the time, or owling him, or calling him at all hours of the night. You have to stop leading him on." 

Theo reached forward to grab a hold of her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "That's all I wanted to say. You can leave now." 

"Thank you," she said. 

"For what? Yelling at you?" 

"You didn't yell at me, exactly." 

Theo rolled his eyes. "Okay sorry, give you a stern talking to. You and your fucking semantics." 

"I...sometimes need a reality check every once in a while, so thank you for that." 

He nodded. 

"And thank you for looking out for him. I'm sorry for what I've been doing,” Hermione said. 

"Don't apologise, just make it right. Okay?" He walked off, leaving her stuck in a quicksand of guilt. 

She couldn't— she didn't want to continue whatever this was. Draco didn't deserve any of that. Ron didn't deserve any of it. She didn't deserve what she was putting herself through.

Chapter Text

Life was easier with a job to distract her. Confusion coated everything in this new world, and her job was no exception. This time, all the problems at work had easy solutions. There were no lies hidden to threaten her happiness that she’d manage to find. No spirits demanded her to do something different. 

At work, all she had were little things to fixes and things she had to learn. 

Each morning, Arthur brought her old case files so she could comb through what she had done before the accident. Half the time, Hermione came up with a revolutionary theory only to find out she’d already accomplished it years ago. 

Every morning in the office, Hermione studied her past deeds and hoped she could achieve something similiar to what she did in the past. 

Her life was filled with games of pretend. She pretended like she knew what she was doing with the friends in her life, pretended like she was competent at her job, pretended like she loved Draco. 

Make believe was her closet ally.

 Her weeks went by in a blur, and once she’d finally finished looking through all of her files and case notes, she knew it was time to get started on a project. 

Draco came to see her most days. They’d each lunch together in her office and talk about the things she was learning about her vocational past. 

Every day he brought her food and they’d take lunch together. 

“I’ve missed having you here,” he said, smiling at her over the salad he had in front of him. 

“You did?” 

“Of course. It’s for purely selfish reasons of course. We used to work together constantly. My job has been much harder without your big, giant brain to help do all the hard work I don’t want to do.” 

“You’re laying on the compliments thick,” she said. “Most women end up with men who only like them for their body. Who would have known I’d end up with someone whose favourite part of my body was my brain?” 

Draco smirked, a devilish expression on his face. “Trust me. I have many other parts I like about you. Want me to give a detailed explanation of my favourite ones and my favourite things to do to those parts?” 

“Hush up,” Hermione said, blushing. 

“I love every part of you. Your body, your mind. It’s all perfect for me.” 

She smiled lifting her fork to hide her expression. Every time he told her about his love for her, it almost stopped her heart. 

Hermione mumbled something noncommittal in response to him. She felt Clover in the back of her mind, knocking at her consciousness to make fun of her. 

“Have you decided on your next project?” he asked, distracting her from the panic she felt about their relationship. 

“No, not yet.” She flipped through some of the folders next to her with some preliminary information. 

“Why not?” 

“There’s so much I wanted to do and so little time to do it all.” 

“Have you narrowed it down?” 

She handed him some of the ideas she’d written down. 

Draco looked over each of them thoughtfully, reading through the case files thoroughly. 

“What about this one?” he asked, pointing at one of the papers. “This seems like it could be fun.” 

Unsurprisingly, Draco’s project of choice was dedicated to developing a potion for mTBIs

“Kill two kneazles with one stone, right?” He said. “Why work harder than you need to? We’ve both been researching brain injuries, so why not work together to find a solution.” 

She considered it for a moment but then looked up at him and nodded. 

“Plus it means we can work together again, since you’ll obviously need my brilliant potion’s expertise to help.” 

Hermione thumbed through the report, nodding thoughtfully. “I thought you said I was the brains behind our work experience together.” 

“No, you make my job easier. Plus, when you’re not my partner all I have to stare at is Theo and he’s not as pretty as you are.” 

Arthur helped her with a rough draft of the proposal, Draco helped her with the potions theory behind it, and the rest of it she worried about herself. After a few weeks of fretting about her presentation to the Ministry in order to get proper funding for the project, Draco and Arthur assured her that her proposal would go smoothly. 

That didn’t stop her from fretting. 

She forced Draco to watch her proposal probably hundreds of time. He was a good sport about it at least. Each time she finished, he would give her notes on the things she could improve upon in the future and of course he’d always remind her of all the things she did well. 

Theo on the other hand was not as gracious. 

“Fucking hell, Granger. I’m not watching that again,” he told her one evening when she had floo’d to his house to get his feedback. 

“Please? You’re the only other person that knows the potion as well as we do,” she said motioning between her and an amused Draco who had followed her over. 

“I don’t give a fuck! It’s fine how it is. You’re stressing about it too much.” 

“Theo,” she whined, “please!” 

“I don’t give a fuck about sleeping with you, so I don’t have to humour your neuroticism.” Theo crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. 

She looked to Draco for help, but he shrugged. “He’s not wrong. I have a very vested interest in sleeping with you.” 

“Just one more time, Theo. I’m afraid Draco isn’t giving me the advice I need because he wants to spare my feelings.” 

“I’d like to add in that I’m not doing that,” Draco said. 

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me get a drink first.” 

When Draco had run off to make her a drink of her own, Theo looked at her curiously. 

“So, you’re snogging again?” Theo asked. 

Hermione blinked up at him, surprised at the sudden topic. 

“What? Did he tell you that?” 

The corner of Theo’s mouth twitched. “No. You just did. I was curious and wanted to figure it out.” 

“How did you know to ask?” 

“Malfoy complains to me when you do something bitchy, my words, not his. And suddenly his complaints have stopped. I know you’re not shagging yet, he doesn’t look that happy.” 

She opened and closed her mouth multiple times. “I don’t know how this is any of your business.”

“It’s not.” Theo twirled his wand in his hand, before setting it down in front of him. "Just so you know, this is the last time I'm going to listen to this. Finish this proposal quickly and then we can come work with you again. Never thought I'd admit it, but you're surprisingly... miss-able."

It turned out the preparation was overkill, just like Draco warned her it would be. It took the Ministry’s preliminary board lesser than five minutes of listening to the proposal before they scheduled her a meeting with Minister Kingsley. 

Luckily, the first presentation gave her confidence. It was a sound proposal. It was going to get approved. 

“Denied?” Hermione asked. “What do you mean my potion is denied.” 

Kingsley crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t have the resources available to approve any more projects for the fiscal year. We are already stretched too thin.” 

“So, my job is useless until January? It’s April!” 

“Unfortunately, my hands are tied. I cannot approve anymore funds being allocated to projects that don’t make money. My treasurers will not let me do it.” 

Hermione blinked. Her mind raced. “How can we get more funds?”

Kingsley tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose we could have a fundraiser,” he spoke slowly, like each were were chosen carefully. 

“A fundraiser?” 

Kingsley opened his mouth to speak more, before a knock sounded at the door. “Would you look at that? Perfect timing.”

Hermione froze at the familiar green eyes peaking through the doorway. 

Harry wasn’t even halfway through the door before he was trying to turn around and walk out. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“You’re not interrupting anything.” Kingsley motioned to the empty chair next to Hermione. “Come take a seat.” 

Harry hesitated at the door. 

“I insist,” Kingsley said. “Hermione and I were just talking about ways we could raise more money for the Ministry. You were talking to me yesterday about how the auror department needs more funds.” 

Kingsley smiled, and all the pieces fit into place. This was planned out. Kingsley, had turned into a politician. 

“Can we get to the point?” Harry asked. “I’m busy, and I’m sure Hermione is as well.”

“Very well, so as you both know the tenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts is approaching. I want to do something a bit different this year in terms of publicity.”

Hermione, ignoring both of them, picked at a string coming off of her blouse. Harry in the same room as her felt off. He was there, so close, her best friend. 

But at the same time, the anger flew off of him in waves. 

Kingsley continued, “The Ministry is planning a gala, it involves the typical events. Schmoozing, trying to find more donations. I want you two to give a speech."

"What about?" Harry asked.

“Both of you would talk about how wrong the blood-purity mindset is, how much we value the victims of the war, and how much progress we’ve made as a society. What do you think?”

“Why do you want me?” Hermione asked.

“Is that a serious question?” Harry snorted. "They're always asking us to do things like this. It's been this way for the last few years."

Obviously, she didn’t remember the last few years, but she bit her tongue to prevent her anger from reaching him. 

But, before she could quell her anger enough to come up with an amiable response, the realisation hit Harry. Guilt painted his expression. 

“Sorry, I forgot,” he mumbled. 

“Well,” Shacklebolt began cautiously. His eyes darted between the two of them, “you’re one of the most famous war heroes. And you’re muggleborn, so you really exemplify how important unity is.” 

Hermione squirmed at the praise he was giving her. 

"I want us to have a Gala.” Kingsley said. “Both you and Harry will speak, of course, but I would like you to talk about improving the union again."

“I’m fine with all of this.” Harry stood. His chair screeched as it scraped the floor. “I’m sure you’ll owl me when I’m needed.”

He left the room at once.

She stared a the door, swinging closed at his exit. Her mind raced with things she wanted to say to Harry. She couldn't decide if she was still angry at him, or if she was just tired of everything. All she knew was that she missed him, almost desperately. 

But combined with the desperation she felt to have him in her life again was the trepidation of any drama or bad things that could happen if they were friends again. 

“What about you Hermione?” Shaklebolt asked unperturbed about Harry’s sudden exit. It shook Hermione out of her daze.

She wanted nothing to do with any more media attention. It was ridiculous to her each time someone asked her to sign an autograph or give a quote for their article or whatever.

“I’m not sure I want to do that,” She finally said.

"If you do it, Hermione, I'll approve your proposal personally."

"Well, you know I won’t say no to that."

The red lipstick was the final touch. It didn't fit her. It was too bright, too fancy, but Ginny said she should wear it.

She slipped on her black dress, slit up the leg just like Ron liked it.

When she finished, she stared at her reflection. A stranger to herself. Just like it had been in the weeks since she'd left Draco crestfallen in his own home.

Her hair, the part of her that had always been iconic to her personality, her sense of self, was no longer like it was. She'd been in the restroom for hours now, trying to manage the charms to straighten out her hair. It was longer than she was used to. Much longer. It flowed down her back, thinner than it used to be.

She took a shaking breath, and grabbed the clutch that she borrowed from Ginny and left her bedroom.

Ron was waiting for her in the living room, half dressed, the daily prophet opened in front of him. She briefly saw quidditch players zooming past photographs.

"I'm ready," she said quietly. He looked up, surprised at her sudden interest.

"I'm not."

"Excuse me?'

"I said, I'm not ready yet."

The flush of anger that had been a subtle consistent flame in the pit of her stomach, flared.

"Ron, I'm supposed to be at the Ministry in thirty minutes."

"Gives me enough time to finish getting dressed."

"Ronald—"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, don't 'Ronald' me. You were hogging the bathroom. I said I'm going to get dressed there's no need to stress about the time."

She closed her eyes, took a calming breath before nodding.

"You look nice," he said before he walked towards their bedroom. He grabbed a strand of her straightened locks. “You should wear your hair like that more often."

She nodded, going back to the sofa and bouncing her knee anxiously until Ron came back out to see her.

The ministry was beautiful. A delightful amalgamation of various decorations that Hermione imagined cost too much. She considered how much money the Ministry could have given to her to fund her projects if they didn't waste it on useless public relation stunts like this.

Her and Ron, distant as they were, swayed around the dance floor together for a few songs. It was a good thing to show others that they were together.

They smiled at each other perfunctorily, appearing as if they were enjoying one another's company.

Soon Hermione moved away towards the bar to grab a drink, her heels were aching. Her shoes much too tall for comfortable dancing.

She was waiting for the barman to bring her a drink, when a glass slid in front of her.

Draco Malfoy stood in front of her, just as intimidating and welcoming as usual. He rested his elbows on the bar, avoiding eye contact with Hermione.

"Hello," he said.

"H-hi."

It was strange talking to him. She had avoided him for the past few weeks. He needed a chance to move on without her.

"Thanks for the drink," she said.

He nodded to himself, swirling his drink in front of him. He downed it in one sip before turning to look at her fully.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

"Draco... I don't think that's a good idea."

"Please, I just—I need to talk to you. I won't... do anything. I need to talk to you." 

She didn’t answer, but then he croaked in a broken voice, “I miss you.” 

She sighed, every urge inside of her knew she shouldn't, but that part lost to the other side of her desperately matching his pace as he took her out of the ballroom and into an empty corridor outside.

He paced in front of her, searching for the right words to tell her.

She ached for him. His familiar face, so foreign. It was only months ago that she looked at him in such a different way, such a beautiful way. Now he was a stranger that she felt desperate for.

"I miss you," he said simply. "I don't—I can't—" He cut off abruptly, an edge of emotion bleeding into his words.

"I know. I miss you too."

"I can't lose you. Don't leave me. I won't... cross any lines anymore, but I... need you. I need to be around you."

She stared at him, sadness covering up her emotions.

"Draco, I don't think this is a good idea."

"I told you I loved you, biggest fucking mistake of my life, but I did. I do love you. I think some part of me will always love you. But I can love you in whichever way you want me to. I can't—don't make me learn how to love you from afar."

Her mind raced with indecision, alternative outcomes. If she were to jump right back into her 'friendship' with Draco, they would likely be just as inappropriate. Ron didn't deserve that, Draco surely didn't deserve that.

"Maybe one day," she said with a sad smile. "I don't think we can be friends right now, but one day after we get some space."

He nodded, appearing like the answer wasn't surprising.

"I think I'm starting to get used to this whole 'you denying me' thing. It's hurting less and less."

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are."

He took a step towards her. His hand touching a piece of her straightened hair.

"You look horrible like this," he said. She gasped, indignation coming through in the form of her surprise. She hadn't expected him to insult her. "You're beautiful, like always, but this isn't you. Don't let him turn you into someone you aren't. You're perfect just like you are."

"I'm far from perfect."

He laughed sadly. "Okay, perhaps that's correct. You're not perfect, but there's nothing you need to change about yourself. Don't let him turn you into someone who is a stranger to yourself. No one should have the power to do that to you."

"I won't."

"And if you ever get it into your mind to finally dump Weasley, please, give me a call."

"If I ever do, I will."

He stared over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed, before nodding and walking off into the other direction. It wasn’t until she heard multiple sets of footsteps, that she realised her conversation hadn’t been alone.

Chapter Text

Lazy weekends were meant for almost lovers to spend with limbs entangled on a couch, attached at the lips. It was meant for wandering hands and brave touches. It was meant for courage and breaking down barriers. 

This Saturday was no exception. 

Hermione hand charted a path of muscles underneath Draco’s hastily unbuttoned shirt. His body tensed underneath her curious fingers, reacquainting her with skin feeling far too familiar than her memory allowed. 

His mouth roamed her neck, signing his signature onto her skin. 

She grabbed his hand, pulling it closer and moving it under her blouse. If she got to explore his body, it was only fair he could do the same. 

“Fuck…” he groaned, pushing his body into hers. 

He splayed cool fingers against her stomach. Each brush of his hand against her skin brought more heat. A flush of power spread over her. He was touching her. 

Draco Malfoy was touching Hermione Granger, and it felt good. 

A flash of green spread through the room. 

“Oh, Merlin, fuck. I didn’t think you two would be… I’m so sorry.” 

Dazed, Hermione looked up to find Harry Potter standing in her living room with a hand over his eyes, muttering the first apology she’s heard from him in years. 

“This is so weird. I’ll be leaving now and try to erase this from my mind. Hermione, owl me, please.” 

Keeping a hand over his eyes, Harry reached his other shaking hand to grab the pot filled with floo powder. In his hastiness, he knocked it over; the pot shattering onto the ground. 

“Mother of all…” Harry mumbled, bending down to sweep it up. 

Draco stood from the sofa, putting distance between him and Hermione. He waved a hand dismissively, casting a spell to clean Harry’s mess. 

“What do you want, Potter?” Draco asked, hastily buttoning his shirt. 

“Hermione, I—“

“You realise it’s considered impolite to barge into someone’s house,” Draco huffed. “Surely someone’s taught you manners at some point?” 

Harry rolled his shoulders back—whether preparing for a fight or a self-soothing gesture, Hermione couldn’t tell. “I’m trying to be polite, Malfoy, but you make everything so difficult.” 

“Difficult! I make it difficult!” Draco scoffed incredulously, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “You’ve been trying to ruin my life for as long as I can remember, and here you are in my home saying I make things difficult. You are so—“ 

“Enough, Malfoy. I need to talk to Hermione.” 

Draco laughed bitterly. “You don’t get to barge in here and make demands of me.” 

“I can do whatever—“

Hermione finally stood, adjusting her blouse, before crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you want, Harry?” 

Her tone wasn’t as sharp as Draco’s, but beneath every precisely pronounced syllable was a hint of venom. 

“I want to apologise,” he said. 

The words settled between the three of them like a Trojan horse. It promised everything she wanted, but held a forbidden threat behind it all. Tense silence filled the air as Hermione’s eyes darted between the two men in front of her. 

Draco glared at Harry. 

Harry paid Draco little attention. His gaze lingered on Hermione, expression heavy with unspoken words and a shared past. 

“Okay, talk,” Hermione said. 

Harry broke eye contact, eyes finally daring to look at Draco. “I think it’s best if we talk alone.” 

“So you can try to convince her to fuck Weasley again?” Draco sneered. 

“Draco—“ Hermione started. 

“No, so I don’t have to deal with your idiotic interruptions every two seconds,” Harry said. 

Before Draco could retort, Hermione interrupted. “This is not productive. Give me… Give me a second to think.” 

She swallowed hard, her breath catching as icy dread snaked around her, contemplating Harry’s request. The memory of their previous conversations stayed echoed in her broken mind, every word laced with another attempt to manipulate her. 

Should she give him a chance? Considering their years of friendship, the countless memories she spent trusting him, protecting him, was she obliged to give him the benefit of the doubt? 

However, even the thought of going off with Hary would only hurt Draco. The months she’s spent getting to know him have only shown how protective he can be. 

Go. Let him speak to you. 

Her teeth clenched at the shock of the words. The sound of the Brain’s order was a volatile current of words, each sound left behind a searing spark. 

But before she could control the urge, her spine straightened, her muscles tightened, and her mouth opened to tell Harry. “Okay. We can talk.” 

Draco’s breath hitched. He squeezed his eyes closed, looking up at the ceiling. 

“I’ll meet you at the ministry. Give me five minutes,” Hermione said. 

Harry nodded wordlessly and turned to go back through the floo. His shoulders looked lighter, his steps springier. 

Draco stood frozen, still as a statue. The only signs he was still alive were his flurry of blinks and clenched jaw.  

“Draco…” Hermione began, waiting for some sort of reaction to her words, but was met with silence. “I’m sorry. I have to.” 

With a tentative hand, she reached forward to touch him on the arm. 

He jerked out of her reach quickly. “No. No, you don’t. You don’t have to. No part of you has to visit with Potter as he tries to convince you I’m not good enough for you. Because that’s what he’s going to do. You know that, right?” 

“I don’t know that.” 

“Because you can’t remember it. You can’t remember all the times he’s belittled me.  If you knew how often he’s tried to convince you I’m scum and you should leave me, you wouldn’t even entertain the idea of seeing him.”

Her mouth opened and closed with countless defenses to his statement. But he was right. She didn’t remember half of this. All the things she wanted to explain to him floated between them. 

But Draco didn’t understand. She couldn’t control this. She was completely out of her depth. Nothing within her power was in her control. 

“There is nothing he could say that would mess this”—she motioned between the two of them—“up. I promise.” 

“I don’t know. All I know is the last time you were around him and his kind, you ended up snogging your ex. Frankly, I know nothing.” 

“You know how I feel about you,” Hermione said quietly, as if the words needed the protection of a lower volume. “Harry and I are going to talk, and then I’ll come right back. I promise. Okay?” 

She took another tentative step forward, trying to close the distance between them. This time, he allowed her. She stepped into his embrace, and he engulfed her in a hug. 

“Every time you go back to them, I’m worried this’ll finally be it,” he whispered as if the words were too delicate. I’m scared you’re finally going to figure out you don’t need me anymore.” 

“Impossible.” She reached ups and brushed her fingers against the stubble on his sharp cheekbones. 

“I love you. Come back to me,” he begged.

“I always will. 

Hermione’s breath hitched with every step she took towards the unseen threat as she approached the Ministry cafe. 

Harry sat at a table off to the side, fiddling with his fingers as two cups of tea sat before him. He bounced a knee as he searched for her in the crowd. 

“Hey,” he said simply as she took the seat across from him. “I’m glad Malfoy let you out long enough to talk to me.” 

With every fibre of her being, she fought the urge to wordlessly leave without a second glance and never speak to Harry again. 

But here she was, giving him another chance. 

“Stop that. This is not how we are going to do this. No one lets me do anything. I am my own person.” She paused, not lingering on that thought. “Anyway, you said you wanted to apologise. I’m here to listen. That is all.” 

“You’re right,” Harry said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry.” 

She waited for more. It was almost laughable that he thought that was enough. 

“For…” she said

“Being an are,” he said with a simple shrug. 

The comment was enough to surprise a laugh out of her. “You’re off to a good start.” 

“I’m sorry for getting involved in things that I shouldn’t have. I know that you and Ron are adults. You can make up your own minds about everything.” 

“Okay.”

“Look, I’m not trying to excuse myself, but you know me. I’m loyal to a fault. Ron’s hurting. He’s been hurting since the war. You and me, we figured it out, how to live with all the… you know… but Ron never could.” 

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “That doesn’t excuse what happened or any of the things you’ve done.” 

“Of course not. But… look, I love him. I shouldn’t have said all that I did, but I did. I can’t take it back.” 

“What does this mean?” Hermione asked. “Where do we go from here?” 

“I’m done meddling. I miss you, and I want you in my life.” 

Her stomach twisted with a blend of hope, disbelief and dread. She had wanted this since her accident. From the moment she learned she wasn’t friends with Harry, she had begged for this. Now that his forgiveness was here, could she truly trust it?

“Done meddling? What exactly does that mean?” She asked. 

“I love Ron. I always will. But I’ll love him separate from you.” 

She blinked. It was too good to be true. 

“Where is this coming from?” Hermione asked. “Just this week you were giving me the cold shoulder? Now? I’m supposed to believe you want to forgive everything and be friends again.” 

Harry shifted in his seat. “It’s been a long time coming. Besides, yesterday I saw you, and you were so out of your element with Kingsley. We’ve had countless meetings, and you usually protest when he tries to get you to do something, but you hardly argued. It reminded me that you’re missing so much context.” 

“I have lost so much. You forgot that. I’ve been hurting since my accident, and you didn’t take my side.” 

“I took advantage of it,” Harry said simply. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” 

It had been so long since she’d listened to his simple bluntness, his way of telling things simply and concisely. He was so earnest, so believable. 

But maybe that was part of the trap he was setting. 

She nodded and let his apology wash over her. “You’ll have to learn to put up with Draco if you want me in your life. He’s not optional. We are a packaged deal.” 

“He’ll have to learn to put up with me too. It may take us some time.” 

“We have that.” 

The next few minutes they spent engaged in tense small talk. They talked about everything from Ginny and how James was, to the upcoming Gala and the speeches they were supposed to write. 

“You’re not apologizing to get me to write your speech for you, are you?” Hermione asked, remembering all the times Harry and Ron had asked her for help with schoolwork. 

Harry laughed. “Like you’d do it for me even if I begged.” 

The conversation was fraught with dangers. Each of them was so desperate to reconnect, but so afraid to ruin it all. Every word between them felt like defusing a bomb; one wrong move and the carefully crafted peace would crumble. 

By the time her tea was finished, she was exhausted. Her brain stung. 

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione said as she was leaving. “This was... It was a good start.” 

Lost in thought, she walked away from Harry, towards the floo network. The crackling of the fire beckoned her home.

Hermione yanked her arm out of a tight grip. “The answer is no. I’m not changing my mind.” 

Across from her stood Ron, eyes filled with tears. He stared at her like a desperate man.

“It’s been months. You said you forgave me already,” Ron said. 

“I did forgive you. That doesn’t mean I want to jump back into a relationship. I don’t want to be with you in that way. It’s over. It’s been over.” 

“Why can’t we just—“ 

“Because I’m in a loving relationship. I’m finally happy! I’m not going back to someone who cheated on me.” 

Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest. Strengthening anger raced through her veins. Its burn was almost pleasurable as Ron begged for her. 

“We both made mistakes. Okay, fine, you finally got him out of your system. Come on, Mione, you know it won’t last. Come back to me, please.” His voice shook, thin and broken. 

Ron reached for her again, but Hermione backed away. 

Her nostrils flared. “I will say this one last time. We are not getting back together. Its over. Either you realise that or you’ll lose all of me.” 

“But I love you,” Ron said. 

A scoff sounded from behind her. Draco’s calm presence walking into the room to stand behind Hermione. 

“Oh good, it’s Weasley. Don’t you have a busy day of wallowing in your own self-pity to return to? Or are you going to spend all day bothering your ex?”

His voice twisted on the word ‘ex’ like he was twisting a knife into Ron’s already injured wound. 

“Draco, stop.” Hermione said, her voice growing taut as she shot him a severe glare. Draco shrugged as he kept his expression carefully blank. 

Ron barely seemed to notice his presence in the tiny office as his eyes remained on her face. He took another step closer to her as he renewed his whispers. 

“Hermione,” his voice was low. “I love you. I will always—“ 

“Weasley, I’m giving you two seconds to back away from my girlfriend before I—“ 

“Draco, I said I would handle this,” she snapped. 

Draco, to his credit, backed away. Even then, the anger still radiated from him in bitter waves as he fumed in the corner. His fingers twitched towards the wand in his pocket. 

“You need to leave,” Hermione said. “If you’re going to keep acting like this, I can’t keep being your friend. You need to think hard about if you want to remain in my life. Now, leave my office.” 

He left without a second glance at Draco. There was a twinge of pain in her chest as she watched his hunched shoulders exit the room. When he was gone, she turned to stare at Draco.

His eyebrows were furrowed as he glared at her carpet.

“I’m sorry about him,” she said with a sigh as she fell back to her chair so she could rub her temples.

“I’ve told you that this is going to keep going on as long as you’re friends with him,” His jaw was clenched as he stared at her carpet, “You keep insisting that it’s all fine, but all he does is try to get us to break up.”

“That’s not-”

“Granger, I’m not an idiot. I see how he looks at you. Hell, I see how he looks at me. He wants me to get hit by a fucking hippogriff so he can get me out of the way,” he sneered. 

“You’re not seriously getting mad at me for this.”

“I’m trying not to, but it’s hard when you keep being so blind to all of this.”

She scoffed. “What do you want me to do? He’s my best friend.”

“And I’m your boyfriend. Me,” Draco said, his finger pointing at his chest, “I’m the one that you’re supposed to choose above everyone else. You’re letting him drive a wedge between us.”

“Oh my god.” She jumped out of her chair so she could stalk to the corner of her office. She took careful breaths as she ran her fingers through her curls.

As hard as she tried to calm herself down, she couldn’t. Her voice was louder when she spoke to the ceiling.

“For once in my life, can I be with someone who doesn’t accuse me of cheating at every single point of my life?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said. “I know you’re not going to cheat on me. I trust you.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, I’ve had to watch you and him for years. I finally have you, and he’s still there, all the time. I’m sick and tired of feeling jealous of him.”

Her glare left her face as she searched his eyes. She strained to hear his small whisper when he spoke again.

“I’m scared that he’s right. That I’m just some rebellious phase of yours and you’ll leave me once you get your fix. Hermione, I’m scared.”

She stepped closer to him so she could wrap her arms around his body. He squeezed her tightly as she fit against him like a puzzle.

“I won’t get over you if you leave me. You’re it for me. And I’m just so scared you’ll—” his voice broke.

She lifted her chin so she could stare into his eyes. His entire face pleaded with her for something that she did know how to make him believe.

“Okay, I’ll stop. I’ll talk to him. Tell him he needs to quit.” She tried to keep the reluctance out of her voice.

“You will?”

“You’re it for me too.” She paused as she took the time to try to swallow the tightness in her throat away. “I love you.”

If she hadn’t been so focused on his expression, she might have missed the soft gasp that escaped from his lips. Like someone cast a jelly-leg jinx on him, all the tension suddenly left his body as he pulled her even closer to him.

“I love you too.”

His hands were trembling when he moved them to frame her face. They both had work to get done yet, they stood connected for many moments. Both seemingly intoxicated by the sensations of their love.