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For someone with such a staunch upbringing of refinery and wizarding preferences, one would be more than surprised to know that Draco Malfoy spent his weekends in various dives, clubs, and bars in Muggle London.
After the war—and after a thorough reassessment of his values and shortcomings—Draco came to discover the novelty of anonymity that the muggle world offered him. There, in a seedy club with a heart-thumping bass and a few carefully placed glamour charms, Draco could lose himself in a few glasses of top-shelf whiskey and the feeling of a crowd ebbing and flowing around him to the music. There, he wasn’t Draco Malfoy. He was just one of a few hundred looking for a distraction from the tribulations of the day-to-day. That was exactly the kind of healing he needed after the last few years.
Presently, he was finding that distraction and healing in his third glass of a finely aged amber liquid, people-watching from a booth in the corner of one of his more recent haunts; a club called The Clover. His eyes scanned the crowd lazily, vacillating between watching a lad be rejected for the third time that night by various women on the dance floor and keeping a tally of just how many drinks a petite, curly-haired woman could swindle unsuspecting men into buying for her. He’d noted four so far without an end in sight.
Good for her.
He gave her an impressed nod of approval despite the faceless woman not seeing him. He was about to turn his attention back to the luckless man from before when his faceless woman turned in such a way that he caught a glimpse of her entire face.
The undignified sputtering that came from his mouth barely concealed his confusion. Surely he must be imagining her. Surely. Because there was no way that he had just deigned an ounce of pride for resident Golden Girl, Hermione fucking Granger.
What would she be doing here?
Draco looked down into his glass and swirled the remaining whiskey with knitted brows. Perhaps three glasses had been one too many and his mind was playing tricks on him. He set the glass down on the table and fixed his eyes on her once again, trying to suss out if it truly was the Wizarding World’s favorite muggleborn witch. Brixton wasn’t unreasonably far from where the Ministry and Diagon Alley were. He’d vaguely remembered reading something in The Daily Prophet not too long ago about the latest class of Curse-Breaker trainees earning their Junior Curse-Breaker certification and seeing her name among them. Perhaps she’d come down here after a hard day, seeking refuge and a break?
He was pulled from his thoughts as he watched her down an additional glass of something potent judging by the small grimace that tugged at her features.
Five. Christ, Granger. Slow down a little.
He watched from afar as she let out a content sigh before ushering the man who purchased the drink for her towards the dance floor, directing his arms around her; onto her. Draco found himself needing to temporarily avert his eyes. The shock of Hermione’s forwardness quickly countered some previously held notions he had about her and he needed a moment to configure those thoughts back into a semblance of understanding. He hadn’t seen much of her since the war ended. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that her behaviors had changed a bit between then and now. She had always been rather direct through their years in school. He supposed it would be a natural progression for her to channel that into her autonomy on the dance floor and in relation to suitors.
The sound of a chair scratching against the floor at the table nearby him ripped him from his thoughts and he felt his eye twitch involuntarily as he replayed his train of thought. He hadn’t spent this much time thinking about the workings of Hermione Granger since his Hogwarts days and he wasn’t about to start up again now that he was several years free of the ink stain on his adolescence that was Granger and her two doting dimwits.
He returned to his glass and idly sipped it as he turned his attention back to the dance floor in hopes of finding a new distraction to settle his attention onto. That lasted all of about two minutes thanks to the shifting lights on the floor catching Hermione’s curls and drawing Draco’s attention once again. He watched her with passive interest, trying to work out this new version of her like he would an arithmancy configuration: locking in on what he knew and then venturing out from there in hopes of new information emerging.
Remnants of war trauma? Likely.
Spending too much time with the smallest Weasel, perhaps?
Draco had heard through friends of friends that Ginny Weasley had become quite emboldened since graduating and often found herself in the ranks of some of his old Slytherin house classmates well into the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t unfounded that some of that adventurousness may have rubbed off on Hermione.
He continued to think as he watched her, noting the way her eyes shut as she moved effortlessly to the music. She moved like it coursed through her. Perhaps she needed this freedom, this healing, in the same way Draco did.
As the current song, a heady EDM track that he didn’t recognize, came to an end, he watched as Hermione snaked her arms around the man’s neck, crowding into his space. Had Draco blinked, he would have missed it, and he’s not certain he even saw it at all, but he watched in a flash as she stuck her tongue out and allowed the man to deposit a small pill onto her tongue. She brought it into her mouth willingly and placed a quick kiss on his cheek as a thank you.
Well. That’s certainly knew.
Draco’s eyes followed in mixed confusion and intrigue as Hermione pulled away from the man and headed for the club’s entrance. He watched her for a moment and then leaned back into his seat, trying to process all that had transpired. He’d seen stranger things, sure. But none seemed to be as confounding in the moment as this one.
He was going to leave it at that. He had no intention of bringing it up to anyone. Maybe save it as an anecdote for Theodore Nott solely for the kick he’d get out of hearing that Gryffindor’s Golden Girl found her vices in clubs and substances like the rest of them.
He really was going to leave it at that until he saw the way Hermione swayed and stumbled slightly as she made her way through the dwindling crowd at the edge of the club. Then he saw the man from the dance floor lock eyes with someone across the room and gesture towards the door. He watched as they both abandoned the energy of the club and focused in on Hermione as she exited the building.
Draco sighed heavily and dropped his head back against the booth for a moment.
This doesn’t have to be my problem.
She helped save the world, surely she can handle some pricks at a bar.
She doesn’t even know I’m here.
Hell, I didn’t even know she was here until twenty minutes ago.
He steadied his breathing, ready to wash his hands of the situation until he remembered why he’d come here in the first place. Distraction. Healing. The old Draco would have certainly let his school rival lay in the reckless bed she’d made. But the new one?
Oh, fuck me.
He downed the last of his drink and followed behind the two men out of the club and onto the cold, South London streets. He scanned the road and caught sight of the witch and the two men in close pursuit a little ways down from the club. He picked up his pace until he was within earshot of the men, but out of sight from them and Hermione.
“Come on, pretty girl. You sure you don’t want to play a little longer?” said the one Draco had seen Hermione dancing with. He seemed shorter out of the club. Stodgy even.
He watched as Hermione rolled her shoulders back, putting up a front to ignore them.
“We won’t bite… Unless you’re interested in that.” The other said, vileness dripping from his lips as he spoke. Definitely the brawns of this paired operation. If it didn’t risk blowing his cover, Draco would have hexed the man right then and there on principle.
They rounded a corner down a small residential street, dimly lit due to the time of night. Draco checked his watch as confirmation: 2:37 AM.
The shorter one spoke again: “You seem tired, love. Maybe my mate and I can come inside and rest with you a while until you feel up to something a little more fun.”
Draco heard Hermione groan and watched as she spun on her heels to face them. He ducked into the shadows to stay out of sight and watched as she struggled to get her barrings with the quickness of the turn.
“I’ve had my fun. Now, if you two don’t mind, I’d like to go home. I recommend you both do the same. Goodnight.” Despite her clearly intoxicated demeanor, Draco was impressed with the firmness in her voice. She never was one to let fear intervene in the heat of a moment.
Just take the bloody hint, lads.
Hermione turned again, swaying less than before, and walked a few feet further before arriving at a small townhome near the end of the block. She started up the front steps but was quickly pulled back by the larger of the two men grabbing her wrist. She pulled against it but he yanked her back to his chest, wrapping an arm firmly around her midsection. “I’ve hardly had any fun yet, doll. I think I’ll decide when it’s time to go. Now be a good girl and invite us in.”
Draco swallowed thickly and dropped his wand into his hand from its holster on his forearm. He stepped out towards the townhome but paused when he caught a glimpse of Hermione’s face. She looked…annoyed?
No. That wasn’t it.
Inconvenienced was more accurate. Hermione Granger was in the midst of being attacked by two men and looked inconvenienced by the whole ordeal.
“Learn to take no for an answer,” she said simply before kicking sharply backward. The action caused the larger man to loosen his grip on her, giving her the room she needed to wriggle free and face them both. She stepped onto the stairs to get a higher vantage point before effortlessly producing her wand.
Within seconds, a jet of red light shot from the tip of her wand. A wordless stupefy spell impacted with the brawnier assailant’s chest, landing him in a crumbled heap at the foot of the stairs. She turned to the man from the dance floor and raised an eyebrow at him in challenge. He took a single step towards her, one that Draco was sure the man instantly regretted.
“Petrificus totalus.” It came out in a harsh whisper from Hermione but landed all the same as the man fell flat onto his back, stiff as a board next to his partner.
She walked the short distance to stand over them and shook her head in disappointment before pointing her wand down at them.
“Obliviate.”
With that, she retreated inside.
Draco emerged from the shadows, jaw slack in both surprise and confusion once again. He looked down at the dazed men, stepping over them to walk up Hermione’s front steps to—
To what?
Knock on the door and see if she was alright?
Hey, Granger. I just saw you nearly get assaulted and didn’t do anything to stop it, but wanted to see if you were okay.
Evening, Granger. Was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in. Also, there are two men laid out on your front lawn.
No variation of that would make sense for him to act upon. Not without having a very confusing conversation about how the end of his night had been spent and also explaining what he was doing in Muggle London in the first place.
Draco retreated from the door and started back down the street, trying to process all of this new information and decide what he was going to do with it.
At first, Draco wanted to come back to The Clover to check that those smarmy men from the previous weekend hadn’t come back to the club to bother other women who may not have the benefit of magic to protect them. Had he also kept an eye out for a certain curly-haired witch? Perhaps, but only passively. She’d clearly proven that she could manage for herself, but he found his eyes wandering, searching for her anyway.
After his third weekend in a row at The Clover, he spotted her.
She looks well.
No visible signs of concern about being at the same club again despite how poorly things went for her last time.
Good.
Draco managed to drown the faint nagging inside him that was interested in checking on how she was doing. Even on a sober mind following the occurrence from a few weeks back, he couldn’t justify any sort of interaction without the risk of giving up the solace he’d found in muggle nightlife. They may be on a more neutral playing field than they had been in years past, but Draco would be damned if he gave Hermione Granger the upper hand on anything in his life.
While he may have succeeded in drowning his empathy, he failed to account for how the whiskey in his system watered his guile.
He cast a quick glamour charm on his hair and face to make his trademark features unrecognizable and sat down at an empty stool a few seats away from where Hermione stood at the bar. She held a lively conversation with the bartender, laughing as if the two of them were old friends. Draco couldn’t help but watch as their conversation played out.
“Haven’t seen you back here in a bit! Thought you may have gone and forgotten all about us!” The bartender looked about their age if Draco had to guess. She was likely a university student moonlighting to cover expenses.
He watched as Hermione reached out and squeezed the girl’s arm fondly. “You know I always find my way back here.” Draco tucked that information away for reasons that his sober mind could deal with later.
“Well welcome back. What’ll it be?” The bartender set a glass down on the wet mat in front of Hermione and raised her eyebrows in question.
“I’ll take a double of my usual, and then another round of whatever he’s drinking.” Hermione turned her attention to the glamoured-Draco and caught his eye. “It’s on me.”
Draco struggled to clear his throat for a moment, feeling as though he’d been caught. “Might not be the best choice. I’ve been drinking top shelf all night.”
Hermione smirked at him. “Don’t worry, I can manage.”
He returned the look and nodded. “Suit yourself. Double shot of Macallan M, please.”
The bartender walked away and Hermione turned to look at Draco more directly. “Do I know you? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
Draco casually ran a hand over his face, confirming that his features were still disguised before responding. “I don’t believe so, but I’m around.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “...You’re around?”
He’d forgotten how easy it was to fall into bickering with this one. “Yes. Around. As in, I am a frequent enough patron here that, should I need some way to spend my evening, I tend to end up here. Around.”
“And yet I haven’t seen you here,” she quipped as their drinks arrived.
“I believe I could say the same for you. I haven’t seen you here in what, two? Three weeks?” Draco fired back and then felt his face scrunch up at his misstep. Despite his error, he watched as her face lit up at a grin spread across her face. He took notice of the way he saw light flash in her eyes. Until then, he hadn’t noticed that it had been missing from them. He felt a semblance of the warmth from before the war briefly emanate from her.
“Are you keeping tabs on me?” It rolled off her tongue effortlessly. There was an air of charm to it that made Draco’s throat go tight. A surprising wave of dread washed over him. Had he really just accidentally engaged Hermione Granger into a bout of flirty banter?
For Salazar’s sake, someone please kill me now.
He could just let her down easily and get the hell out of there. It would be much more painless for him than this already stressful situation he’d landed himself in. But his mother had raised him to be a gentleman and that, much to his dismay, outweighed his dire need to evacuate this conversation immediately.
“Suppose I am. Maybe you could make my evenings a little easier and let me know when I’d see you back here next?” He leaned back and sipped his drink casually, watching her for any signs of recognition crossing her face. Still clear.
Hermione took a long sip of her drink, considering his question. After drumming her fingers on the counter for a moment in deliberation, she responded. “Every Saturday.”
He raised his glass to her appreciatively and nodded. “Noted.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment while Draco racked his mind on how to get out of this, brain fogged by the impeccably smooth whiskey in his hand. He stole a few glances in her direction and noticed the way she seemed to be zoning out into her drink. Her eyes were now clearly absent of the spark he’d seen only a short while before. Had her eyes always looked so… hollow?
He cleared his throat, breaking her from her stupor. Nearly immediately, he noticed the brightness return, but there was a moment right before that he could see the hollowness head-on before it was washed away by the warmth.
He’d never admit it, but he knew that look anywhere. He’d seen it reflected on himself almost every morning in the mirror since The Battle of Hogwarts.
I am not doing this again.
Forcing himself to not spend a minute longer empathizing, again, with the muggleborn witch, he moved to stand from the stool. “Thank you for the drink–”
“Hermione.”
He paused for a moment and nodded. “Thank you for the drink, Hermione.” The name felt foreign on his tongue, though strangely not like acid, which he’d briefly thought it might.
“See you around?”
He smirked at her and nodded. “See you around.”
He left soon after, removing the glamour charms the second he stepped foot outside of the club and made a mental reminder to tuck himself further into the shadows and under no circumstances approach her should he decide to come back next Saturday. Or the Saturday after that.
Draco hadn’t meant to lie to her. Not really. He’s considering it more of a half-truth.
He did see Hermione around. Every Saturday in fact.
She just couldn’t see him.
It was safer this way, for him to hide on the clear opposite side of the club, tucked up in a small VIP booth. He surprisingly was not fond of the pomp and circumstance of a reserved section, but appreciated the seclusion it provided. Draco could still enjoy his favorite form of healing without having to give up the club he’d come to love unwinding in.
It was pure coincidence that Hermione continued to show up every Saturday like clockwork.
He’d actually began to enjoy watching her unwind in her own way from his safe vantage point. It was refreshing to see her in this new light. Though he still held a deep disdain for the muggleborn witch– though not for purity reasons, of that he was certain– it was… nice to discover that perhaps she didn’t actually have a broomstick shoved up her arse like he thought she did all through school.
One thing he did not enjoy, however, was the manner in which Hermione handled herself at the club. He had chalked up the pill-taking on that first night to work struggles and a desperate need for a break. But he soon noticed over the months of watching observing her that her vices seemed less cathartic and more careless with each passing weekend.
For each drink Draco would have on those Saturday nights, Hermione would have at least two. Once, he was certain she would hit double digits, and followed her all the way home to make sure she actually made it without ending up in a bush.
Later that month, he watched for longer than he’d care to admit as she let a man pin her against a wall and do some rather unseemly things to her. Draco wouldn’t dare own up to it, but that man may or may not have been on the receiving end of a nonverbal spell that left him with a broken nose later that night.
Two weekends after that, Draco was forced to use a mild levicorpus jinx to move her drunken figure out of the road and onto the sidewalk to avoid being hit by the taxicab that sped by. She was, much to Draco’s chagrin, none the wiser.
Bloody hell, Granger. You survived a fucking war only to be nearly taken out by a tumble into oncoming traffic.
On the cycle went. He’d watch as Hermione drowned her hidden sorrows in whatever drink, pill, or partner she could get her hands on before stumbling her way home, Draco following a safe distance behind to ensure that nothing happened to The Ministry’s darling.
After nearly three months, Draco found himself sitting sober in his reserved section of The Clover. Like each Saturday night, he ordered a glass of whiskey, or in this instance water, and took up his post as the unofficial babysitter of Hermione Granger. He scanned the crowd like he did each weekend, waiting for her curls to catch his eye under the strobing lights. Except this time they didn’t.
He checked his watch: 11:47 PM.
She should be here.
He waited a little while longer and tried to think if he’d read anything about Curse-Breaker missions that could explain her absence, but came up empty.
After waiting what he deemed to be the appropriate amount of time one should wait before deciding to meddle in someone else’s life, Draco walked over to the bar and flagged down the familiar bartender whom he and Hermione had interacted with a few months back. Hermione had seemed rather friendly with her, so maybe Draco would have some luck getting some intel.
Intel? What is this, a bloody search and rescue mission?
“What can I get ya?”
In addition to his impeccable dueling skills, Draco’s charm abilities knew no bounds when wielded in the proper setting. “Hopefully an answer to my question if I should be so lucky.”
The bartender smirked at him and shook her head. “As much as I’d love to make an exception for you, I make it a point to not date patrons. Sorry, love.”
He feigned a broken heart and tossed in a wink for good measure. The lighting in the club may be poor, but Draco was certain he saw a flush creep up her cheeks. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to default to my backup question.”
The bartender started filling a few drinks as she spoke with Draco. “That I can do.”
“A… colleague of mine is usually here around this time each week and I was hoping to catch up with her. I think you may know her. Hermione Granger?” Draco held a hand out beside him. “She’s about this tall. Hair is sometimes reminiscent of someone who’s been recently electrocuted. Will talk your ear off on just about any subject she feels even minorly educated on. Ring any bells?”
The bartender stifled a laugh and nodded. “I do believe I know the one. She’s not here tonight, unfortunately. She’s at a friend of ours’ house for a party.”
So she’s fine. Just not here.
Draco hid the emerging emotions on his face. Was that disappointment? Surely not. “I see. Well, thank you for that information. I’ll just have to catch her next weekend.” He turned to leave the counter, but the bartender caught him by the elbow.
“I can give you the address if you’d like. It’s not too far from here and I’m sure she’d be excited to see you.” She grabbed a napkin and started jotting down the address.
“Oh, I’m certain she would be thrilled,” he replied with a chuckle. Draco took the napkin she’d slid his way and gave a nod of appreciation before making his way to the exit.
He wasn’t sure exactly why he was heading towards the address on the napkin. If Hermione was with friends, surely they’d keep an eye out for her. But as he walked, Draco found himself thinking about how he’d handled some of his larger emotions following the war. The parties. The drugs. He’d do just about anything to alleviate the deep ache he felt in his soul, even if it meant disguising that pain around his closest network and sneaking relief whenever he could find it. He could have worn a sign around his neck that said “Help Me Please” and no one would have thought the wiser because of the words he spoke and the grins he flashed so convincingly.
These people at this party may be Hermione’s friends, but they wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for the signs of distress. Even in its quieter moments– thanks to the healing and introspection– Draco could still feel the cavernous pain that came with those final years at Hogwarts and the aftermath that ensued. At times even now, it felt debilitating. He may not see eye to eye with Granger, but he knew the trauma they shared from their opposite sides of the war strangely tethered them to one another like a twin flame.
The air prickled with conversation as he came around the corner. He quickly pulled himself back behind the wall he’d rounded and cast a quick Disillusionment charm on himself before proceeding. On the front porch sat a small grouping of people chatting and laughing with drinks in their hands and smoke wafting through the area. He did a quick scan before locking onto familiar, hollow eyes. She had a smile plastered on her face, but it didn’t seem to reach.
Why don’t they notice it?
He watched for far longer than he’d planned to. He couldn’t break himself away as the conversation carried on around her, but hardly ever including her. None of them seemed to notice her lack of participation and continued on, blissfully unaware.
“Hermione?” Her name snapped both her and Draco back to attention at the sound of it. One of Hermione’s so-called friends laughed and shook his head. “Did you hear what I said?”
Hermione laughed effortlessly and shook her head. “Sorry, was thinking about something else. Can you repeat that?”
He joined her laughter and carefully slipped the cup out of her hands. “I think that’s enough of that for now.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed with a performative lilt to her voice that the untrained ear wouldn’t have caught.
“I said, what do people say about you back home? Who were you back then?” The man asked her as he casually took a sip from an amber bottle.
Draco watched the hollowness creep into Hermione’s eyes once more, as her hand absently rubbed her forearm. He thought of the dormant scar beneath the fabric of her sweater and the weight those words carried.
Was she thinking of that night? Did she feel that that was who she was back then? A life of heroism, reduced to nothing but a two-syllable slur?
He steeled himself against the side paneling of the house for a moment as some of his own aches momentarily returned in a sharp wave. He heard Hermione clear her throat and forced his eyes up to watch as she responded.
“Oh, this and that. I was a bit of an outcast back home. I had a small group that kept me going, but truthfully I didn’t hold much weight in the minds of the people there. I probably still don’t, if I’m honest.” Hermione stole her drink back from her friend and took a long sip. “I’m sure most people would say the world would be a better place without me–”
What?
Had he heard her correctly?
Draco heard her laugh a little and watched as she took another sip. “I don’t disagree. I mean, I’ve been trying to leave it for as long as I can remember. I had a few rough years in there where I would be with my family during the summer and beg them to let us travel forever so I’d never have to return home in the fall. They never took me up on it, though. So…”
Her friend stared at her blankly for a moment before bursting out laughing and shaking his head.
Draco’s heart fell into his stomach.
Was this man, this “friend” of hers laughing at such a stoic confession?
Draco had suspected it might be bad, but agreeing that the world was better off without her? When had The Golden Girl fallen so far?
“Please tell me they talk about your sense of humor back home,” her friend replied as he finally stopped laughing.
Hermione plastered a smile onto her face, somehow even faker than the previous one in Draco’s eyes, and nodded. “Oh, naturally. I’m a proper joke out there.” The words were slicing despite her tone and demeanor.
He watched, still bracing himself against the side of the house as Hermione finished her drink before rising. “I think I may call it. I’ll see you all another time, though.” She leaned in and pressed a few chaste kisses to the cheeks of her friends on the patio before heading down the steps and onto a neighboring street.
He checked his watch and waited exactly a minute before heading off after her.
Once the street was clear and Hermione was just far enough to be within his eye line but out of earshot, he dropped the Disillusionment charm and followed her down what had become a rather familiar walk back to her home.
As they approached the quiet end of her street, Hermione stopped in the middle of the road. Draco paused as well, sidestepping into the dark shadows of the nearby foliage.
“I know you’re there,” she said flatly.
Draco held his breath and remained silent.
“Malfoy, I swear on everything good in this world that if you don’t show your face to me this instant I’ll hex it straight off your head.”
“It’s good to see you still have that undying bite towards me, Granger.” He stepped into the street, just barely lit by the moon, and allowed himself to steal a smug look at her.
Oh. I have not missed that look.
Within seconds, Hermione was stalking towards him at an alarming rate, wand drawn and pressed firmly under his chin. “You have some nerve, you know that?”
Despite the threat, he held onto his cool composure. “I hardly know what you’re talking about, Granger.”
She twisted the wand firmly against the underside of his jaw in response. “Come off it. It’s one thing to stalk me at The Clover but at my friend’s house? At my home, Malfoy?”
He barked out a laugh in an attempt to hide the creeping panic that was rising in his chest from being found out. “I hardly consider this stalking. I was–”
“No. You don’t get to justify yourself. I’ve had enough of this. You’ve been following me for months and I am through with it.”
Draco opened his mouth to speak once more but the cold stare coming from Hermione and the crackling energy emanating from the tip of her wand had him thinking otherwise. He gave a single nod in understanding.
She held his eyes for a moment longer, seemingly stewing on whether she’d like to follow through on hexing him anyway, before pulling away and making her way up the steps.
Draco watched as she fought briefly with her keys and the door before getting it unlocked. He’s certain that he heard the phrases “fucking Malfoy” and “the absolute prat” spoken under her breath as she made her way inside.
Figures. I do one kind thing for fucking Granger and it goes arse to tits.
He let out an audible groan and turned his attention to the stars as he began brainstorming what other bars and clubs he could call home now that he’d effectively ruined his chances of ever returning to The Clover without incurring the wrath of Hermione Granger.
As he turned to head back down the street, he heard the unmistakable hissing of a curse flying through the air. He turned around sharply, wand drawn and eyes scanning militantly across Hermione’s porch, assuming she’d changed her mind about hexing him.
He wasn’t opposed to hitting her with a hex. He could easily justify it if it was done in self-defense. She had threatened him after all.
However, the porch and the surrounding street remained empty.
Draco took a cautious step towards her house and watched for any other movements. After a few moments, he saw the reflection of purple sparks appear in her window followed by a flash of white and then a crashing noise.
He didn’t think, quickly striding up her steps and pounding on Hermione’s front door. “Granger, what’s going on in there?”
Draco looked through her windows just as a flash of yellow lights up the hall, followed by a guttural scream from Hermione.
“Alohomora—”
He tried the door handle, but it still won’t budge.
“Leave it to fucking Granger to ward her own house against magic,” he groaned as he shouldered the door with as much force as he could manage. After a second hit, the wood cracked open just enough for him to force it open manually.
More sparks. More crashing.
He’d thought they’d left all of that behind after the war.
“Granger for the love of Merlin, where are you?” Draco called out harshly, his wand drawn as he got closer to the noise. Another bright blast lit up a doorway at the end of the hall, white light spilling out from beneath the door’s frame.
He was quick to close the distance and burst through the door.
“Stupefy!”
Draco’s timing was impeccable. Had he entered even a second later, he wouldn’t have had time to dodge the stunner that landed right where his head had previously been. He jumped up from his crouch, eyes wide as he scanned the room for Hermione’s attacker.
“Agh!” She screamed at Draco, seething rage bubbling to the surface of the witch standing in the center of the room.
“Where are they?” he asked as he did a quick lap around the room.
“You absolute idiot. Why can’t you just leave me alone!” Her tone caused him to pause and take a closer look around the room at the destruction. Cracked shelves of a bookcase and chipped shards of a porcelain tea set littered the floor, but no signs of blood or a struggle. He crossed towards Hermione and she quickly pointed her wand at him.
“You’re not in danger.” It was factual. Confused even.
Hermione sighed and lowered her wand. “No, Malfoy. I am not in danger. I’m fine. Or at least I was until you broke into my home to save me from myself.”
“Based on the conversation I heard just a bit ago, that’s not an unreasonable thing to protect you from,” he retorted flatly.
She leveled him with another cruel glare. He hadn’t missed that look either.
He sighed and put his hands up in truce. “Fine. Apologies. I will not make jokes about information obtained while surveilling.”
“Stalking,” Hermione corrected.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Semantics.”
“Leave.”
The weight of her conversation was still sitting heavily in the back of Draco’s mind. He asked the question he wished someone would have asked him when he was struggling the most. “Are you going to be safe if I do?”
The question momentarily caused her face to falter. She swallowed and Draco watched as Hermione built back up her invisible shield, one he’d seen on so many occasions when she was in deep with Potter and Weasley over the years. “I was safe before you arrived and I’ll be safe after. I can’t say the same for you if you continue to overstay your welcome in my home, Malfoy.”
He thought for a moment and then took a cautious step towards her, reaching his hand for the one holding her wand and raising it back up at him. “That could work.”
She went to drop her wrist but he held it there. When that didn’t work, she tugged it firmly but he didn’t waver. “Let go of me or I’ll hex you.”
“Do it,” he said simply.
“Excuse me?”
“Hex me. Or try to anyway. You clearly need a target given the state of your study, so use me.” Draco took a few steps back and assumed a dueling stance opposite her.
Hermione looked unamused and crossed her arms.
“Granger, I am giving you an opportunity to duel me, no holds barred. Should you get a hit in, I will graciously let bygones but know that if I leave, you won’t have that opportunity again. Dig through that swotty little brain of yours and root out every time I’ve wronged you and–” Draco was knocked, rather unceremoniously, several feet back by Hermione’s wordless stupefy.
He doubled over only for a moment to regain his barrings before standing up straight and arching a challenging brow at her. “Sure. We can start now,” he said regarding the lack of preparation she allowed him. Quickly, he fired back a stinging jinx at her feet followed by an oppugno at a stack of books on the desk in her study, letting them sail towards her at an alarming speed.
All but one book missed. The one that landed nearly knocked her wand from her hand, but she caught it before it hit the floor. She used the lowered vantage point to send a tripping jinx at his feet and levitate a globe off the same desk, sending it hurling toward him.
Draco side-stepped the jinx. “Reducto!”
The globe shattered as his spell landed, sending bits of ocean blue plywood raining over the both of them. He cocked his head at Hermione. “That the best you can do, Granger? Where’s that fire from before? What do I need to do to draw it out of you, huh?”
He landed a stupefy on her shoulder, sending her slamming into the door of the study with surprising force. She retaliated immediately, rage quickly growing in her eyes.
“Levicorpus!” Hermione bit out harshly, sending Draco flying several feet into the air.
“Lazy,” he retorted, forcing himself to maintain his calm demeanor in hopes of riling her up further. “Liberacorpus.” Draco dropped immediately to the ground with a groan, countering her curse.
“Shut up, Malfoy!” She made her way towards him, wand still drawn.
He watched her from the ground, noticing how the spark had returned to her eyes again. “You need to feel this rage, don’t you?”
“You don’t know anything.” Hermione fired off another stinging jinx at Draco’s figure on the ground. He rolled to the side to avoid it.
“I can see it in your eyes. This rage makes you feel like you again, doesn’t it? Makes you feel like you can control something again.” He pushed himself up to his knees but Hermione forced him down with a swift kick to his chest.
He coughed briefly before continuing. “I saw it at the bar. You’re just as numb as the rest of us, aren’t you? Except you don’t have anywhere to channel it, so you have to keep it in and let it out at the club each weekend or explode about it in here, right?” He stood and pointed his wand at her chest, prodding it with the tip.
She pushed him harshly with a scream of frustration, but he allowed himself to be moved by her.
“I’m right, aren’t I? When we spoke that night at the bar counter, your eyes were just as empty as mine are. You were talking but I could see your mind going elsewhere. It goes back to the war, doesn’t it? To all of that destruction and–”
Draco noticed a new emotion take hold in her eyes a split-second too late as she closed in on him, standing no more than a few feet away. “That was you?!” she screamed before aiming. “Bombarda!”
Beside Draco, a bust of a muggle historical figure exploded violently, stopping him in his tracks. “What the fuck, Granger?!”
“You stalked me and glamoured yourself to pulled whatever weird shit that was at the bar? What is wrong with you?” She hit Draco’s foot deliberately with a stinging jinx, causing him to stumble forward.
He caught himself on the now-bare bust stand and looked at her with exasperation and anger before barking out an unforgiving laugh. “What’s wrong with me?” Draco righted himself and took several steps toward her, continuing their dance forward and backward across the length of the room.
Sparks shot from his wand at the ground, forcing Hermione to take a step to the side to avoid them. “You’re taking pills from strangers!”
More sparks. She stepped around them again.
“Wandering into oncoming traffic!”
Another assault at her feet. She barely outstepped it and fired another stupefy at him. He avoided it with ease.
“Getting pissed until the morning without a care in the world and you have the audacity to ask what’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?!” The last hex Draco sent landed and knocked Hermione onto the ground.
He didn’t know why he was coming at her like this, trying to help her acknowledge the pain she was so clearly feeling. He stole a look around the room, reconsidering the damage littering the floor of the study and he thought he knew, at least a little.
He knew this pain far too intimately. He was familiar with the clawing pain of feeling like you’re drowning in the suffering and loss surrounding you. Of the despair that takes a person in the middle of the night, leaving them to recount every misstep made and how differently the outcomes could have been. The blood on the hands of seventeen-year-olds fighting in a war that was never truly about them. He understood that; her. He shook his head minutely in a wistful sort of acknowledgment.
I’m empathizing with Granger. In what world?
Draco disappeared into his thoughts for a moment too long and didn’t take notice that Hermione had risen to her feet. He was met with another harsh stupefy, causing his back to collide with the already-cracked bookshelf. She crowded him once more, rage in her eyes and wand drawn.
“Why couldn’t you just leave me alone!” Hermione yelled again, now standing toe to toe with him. Draco noticed the crack in her voice that hadn’t been there previously. Her resolve was breaking. She cast a wordless incarcerous at him and he hissed as the restraints tighten, holding him securely to the bookshelf.
“I’m right. Aren’t I, Granger? Tell me I’m right. That you need the pills and the drinks, and the men to feel in control again.” The words came out harshly through gritted teeth. Draco could feel that they were right on the cusp of the floodgates opening. He just needed to deliver the final blow. “And when you can’t, you lose your shit and destroy everything to make you feel like you did before the war.”
The emotions finally bubbled over and the air grew thick with the release of her anger. “Yes! Are you happy now?” she screamed, dropping her wand and fisting her hands into her hair in frustration. The curse broke around Draco, but he remained against the shelf as he watched her unravel.
“The war ended three years ago and every night I relive it like it was yesterday. I feel all of it. Every loss, every misstep, every bad call. I feel all of it and I’m sick over it. I can’t be alone without getting lost in the grief of every part of the war that went wrong along the way. I thought I’d be thrilled to have my alone time back, to finally have some quiet again and be free from Harry’s nightmares and Ron’s incessant muttering, and yet the first time I was truly alone I spent the whole night staring at the door, waiting for Bellatrix, or Greyback, or Voldemort himself to burst through it and pull me back into it all over again. It’s unbearable and you know the worst part?”
Draco watched her while taking shallow breaths, not wanting to derail this moment. He gave a small shake of his head in response.
Hermione sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling.
“The worst part is that everyone moved on. Every single person mourned and grieved and processed in an acceptable time frame. They rebuilt and turned over new leaves and healed. Why didn’t I get to?”
Her question hung heavily in the silence.
“I’m still here with guilt and grief so thick I could choke on it with no way to move forward and nobody to even ask if I need help. I feel like I’m screaming into the void with the pain of it all and there’s not a single person giving me a second glance. And why would they? What could the Golden Girl possibly have to be sad about? She won, right? All the pain and sleepless nights and terrible dreams must just vanish because the war is over.”
Hermione’s chest rose and fell at an alarming rate. The look in her eyes was wild, desperate even. “The war isn’t over. It’s just an endless loop over and over and nobody sees that I’m still in it. I’m here and nobody can see me fighting and screaming for a way out.”
Cautiously, Draco grabbed either side of Hermione’s arms in an attempt to ground her before she fell into a full-fledged panic attack. “Look at me.”
Her eyes stared unwaveringly at his chest while her breaths continued to come through in shallow huffs.
“Hermione. Look at me.” Draco’s voice was firm. The tone, mixed with the use of her name, pulled her from the moment she was lost in as she locked eyes with him. He held her gaze, absorbing everything she had just said. For a moment, the only sound in the decimated study was their layered, erratic breathing before he finally broke the silence.
“I see you.”
And he did. It was like looking into a mirror the way he saw her at present. Her chest was heaving and she looked like she might scream or cry in the next moment and he saw it all.
Hermione opened her mouth to speak but closed it right after. She nearly started again but thought better of it and instead took control of the situation at hand. She stepped forward to close the short distance between where she stood and where Draco was pressed against the bookshelf and did something unthinkable. She kissed him.
It was firm, still holding some of the remaining anger and grief from her confession. It shifted to tender a moment later before she pulled away entirely.
Of all the ways Draco saw this duel ending, this was not one of them. He stared into her eyes as she stepped back, failing to hide the confusion and intrigue that crossed his face.
“Oh god. I’m… I’m so sorry, I just got caught up in the moment.” She turned to move away from him but his hand firmly caught her hip to keep her in place.
“Will that help?” he asked earnestly.
She furrowed her brows at the question.
“Kissing me. Will that help?” Draco asked again and looked at her expectantly. He watched as a flush crept across her cheek as she refused to answer. He sighed and restructured the ask.
“Did that help?”
Hermione cast her eyes down but nodded timidly.
Draco thought for a moment about what was on the table before them. He didn’t mind being used like this. Not if it gave her the release she needed. Or at least showed her the path to working through all of the pain she’s been harboring. In a way, they were two sides of the same coin. Despite their disdain for one another that had manifested so cruelly and violently over the years, perhaps they could come together for a bit of healing.
As Draco reached for Hermione’s chin, tilting her up towards him, he thought briefly about whether doing this for her might bring about some healing for him as well. It wouldn’t fix or reverse the terrible things he’d done to her growing up, but it would allow him to use his mouth for something good rather than allowing it to drip insults and curses at the witch before him.
He pressed his mouth firmly against hers, guiding her closer with the hand still resting on her hip to let her know that this was okay. After a moment, he felt her relax into it and kiss back with an increased fervor.
Draco’s hand slid up from her chin and tangled into her hair, pulling just gently enough to garner a noise from her mouth.
He’d never admit it, but that noise was quickly filed away into his brain.
Hermione’s hands pressed against his chest as she took more control and deepened their kiss. She allowed her tongue to weave its way into his mouth, which he responded to willingly.
As her pressed hands gripped at the wool sweater across his chest, Draco found his hands wandering beyond her hair and hip. They traveled over the nape of her neck, following the curve of it that he’d been forced to stare at for years as he sat behind her in class. They traveled down to the arching slant of her waist, feeling a faint ridge that he presumed to be a scar behind her sweater. He let his fingers graze over the small expanse of her back that was exposed, earning yet another noise of contentment from Hermione.
Draco groaned at the sound and fought for the reins. His hands settled on her hips and used them as an axis point to swap their places. In a flash, Hermione was pressed against the bookshelf while he crowded into her space. She pulled away, breathless from the action, and watched him with rapid breaths. He wasted no time and made his descent down her jaw and along the side of her neck before settling into the soft junction where it curved. His teeth scraped over the skin and he felt Hermione’s knees buckle slightly, eliminating any space between them.
“Malfoy–” she said breathily. He absently noticed that this may have been the first time in years that he’d heard her voice so relaxed. He doubled down his efforts and nipped the skin before laving over it soothingly with his tongue.
Hermione threaded her hands into his disheveled blonde hair and held him at that spot on her throat while he sucked and kissed at it with urgency. After a few moments, she was writhing against the bookshelf under his touch. She frantically pulled his mouth off her skin and brought his lips back to her own.
Draco let her lead them the rest of the way, meeting each of her kisses with the same level of fervency until she slowed down to a more unhurried pace. She finally pulled away and rested her forehead against his. Her eyes were shut but Draco watched her face intently for any signs of residual emotion or pain from before. He let out a small sigh of relief when he found no traces.
He leaned forward and placed a small kiss against her lips before speaking. “If you feel like this again, call me. None of this other reckless stuff anymore, okay? You call me and I can be whatever you need.”
Hermione opened her eyes and met his gaze on her with a look of uncertainty.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Draco added quietly, reassuringly.
She nodded and slowly removed his hands from her hips. He took that as his sign to take his leave. She gave him a small smile as he adjusted his sweater and ran a hand through his hair to right himself again.
They stared at each other for a moment longer before Draco cleared his throat and gave her a curt nod. “I’ll be on my way. Look after yourself, Granger. Please.”
She nodded. He studied her face for a moment to decide her sincerity before accepting it and heading for the door. As his hand reached for the handle of the study’s door, Hermione spoke up.
“Why are you doing this?” It was quiet and he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and face her when he answered.
“Because I know how it feels.” His answer was just as quiet. He kept his hand on the handle for a moment longer, eyes closed as he processed his own confession of struggle.
“Draco?”
That’s new.
“Yeah?”
He turned his head to the side, not quite facing her, but enough to let her see some of his face in profile. From his view, she hadn’t moved from her place against the bookshelf. She was staring at him with an expression he’d never seen her make towards him before. The recognition of it as grace and understanding etched across her face made his heart stutter briefly.
“I see you too.”