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“He’s just in a bad mood because of everything happening this summer,” Hermione explained, unable to look directly at the disappointment in Ginny’s expression. “You know how he gets, Quidditch is his life.”
“But he’s avoided making a serious commitment for ages. If his feelings about you two were genuine, the Quidditch World Cup wouldn’t even be a factor,” Ginny insisted.
But Ginny didn’t get it. She had a successful Quidditch career. She joined the Holyhead Harpies straight out of Hogwarts, and she’d retired as a legend. Her legacy in the British and Irish Premier League was secure.
It was different for Oliver. He’d tried out several times before he made it onto Puddlemere United. And then he’d only been a reserve keeper, merely keeping the bench warm before he’d finally had a chance to play. But even after all of his patience, it had all been cut short when he sustained a shoulder injury in his first season as the starting keeper. They let him go from the team, and he wasn’t successful when he’d tried out for other teams in the league.
Hermione had heard the chronicle of his short-lived professional career too many times to count. And she knew something about unfulfilled potential, after all. Once considered the brightest witch of her age, now stuck in a dead-end job at the Ministry.
She and Oliver understood each other. Which was why she knew they’d find their way back to each other. They always did.
Hermione could hardly tamp down her joy when she came home from work just a few weeks later. Ginny was in the kitchen, mixing dough for muffins when she looked up at Hermione’s arrival.
“Ginny, I’ve got it!” Hermione announced, shooting through the front door and across the living room, before landing in the kitchen.
“Got what?” Ginny asked, distractedly eyeing the consistency of the mixture on her spoon.
Hermione gave herself a moment to admire the stray bit of flour dusting Ginny’s forearm, and the way she held the mixing bowl like it was an old friend.
At Hermione’s silence, Ginny finally turned her attention back to her. “What?”
“I think I’ve found a way to help you open that bakery, just like you’ve always wanted!” Hermione proclaimed, before adding in a rush, “And I think it could help me win Oliver back.”
Ginny’s jaw fell open, blinking rapidly a few times. “What the hell are you on about, Hermione?”
“I was talking with Angelina today. She was saying that Magical Games & Sports are giving permits for small businesses selling goods at the games this summer!”
Still, Ginny merely blinked at this news. But that was no matter, Hermione had already thought of everything.
“I was thinking…you and I could have a stand together. You’d sell your pastries, and I’d help out, of course. And we could give people who buy from us the option of joining your mailing list. That way they’d be the first to know once you open your shop!” Hermione continued, before adding, “And with the profit you make from this, that’ll be in no time.”
“But we’ll have to take time off from work,” Ginny protested, but her voice betrayed her. She was excited.
“Mine was already approved,” Hermione told her. “And I’m sure yours will be, too. It’s an honor to participate in the World Cup in any capacity. That’s what my boss said, anyway.”
“But—“ Ginny paused. “Wait, what does this have to do with Oliver again?”
“Well, he’ll be at the games of course. But I’m not sure which ones he has tickets for.” Hermione shrugged and waved the thought away. “He just needs to see me again to remember his feelings for me, and this is a great excuse. He’d never believe I went to the World Cup out of my own interest.”
But Ginny wasn’t listening anymore. Hermione could see that her gaze had gone distant, probably estimating all of the ingredients they needed. They only had a few weeks to prepare for this, after all.
“Ok, yes,” Ginny said finally. “Let’s do it.”
Baking wasn’t something that Hermione found any joy in. And, honestly, why would she bother with it when her flatmate was always making the most delectable pastries? But Ginny took it upon herself to give Hermione a crash course in all of her favorite recipes.
Pretty soon, she was an expert at eclairs, a prodigy with pies, and a connoisseur of cakes. Or at least—she was pretty close. Ginny’s recipes were thankfully easy to follow, as she was precise in her ingredients. None of the “pinch of this” or “dash of that” nonsense.
The day of the first game arrived before they knew it. And just as Hermione had predicted, their baked goods stand was swarmed with customers from the time the gates to the grounds opened, until well past nightfall.
Even while the game had been underway—Romania versus Australia—the line had gotten shorter, though it never entirely stopped. Some people didn’t even have tickets for the game, they’d just wanted to be in the atmosphere of the grounds. It seemed like something Oliver would do, so Hermione was surprised when the whole day passed without a glimpse of him.
They were both exhausted when the lines finally died down. Ginny had been doubtful that morning that they’d sell all of their stock, but at the end of the night, they only had a few pastries left.
“Oh no, you’re out of the eclairs?” A voice grumbled behind them when they were starting to pack their things up for the day.
Hermione looked over her shoulder, unprepared for the sight of Draco Malfoy frowning as he gazed at the menu, where several items had been crossed off.
“You should have stopped by sooner,” Hermione said, unable to keep a bristling tone from her voice at the sight of him.
His eyes landed on her then, and Hermione was struck by how disarming the look on his face was. His eyes were crinkled in good humor, lips pinched in a self-deprecating scowl.
“I did,” he replied. “You probably didn’t notice me with the rush of customers you two were dealing with. I was hoping I could get another order—they were divine.”
Hermione felt lit from within at his words. She’d been the one to make today’s batch of eclairs. Sure, it was Ginny’s recipe, but it still felt nice to receive praise for her efforts.
“You’ll have to wait in line again for them next time, Malfoy,” Ginny told him, before gesturing for Hermione to help her with packing away the display stands.
“See you tomorrow then,” Malfoy said, absently tapping on the counter before he disappeared into the crowd of tents surrounding them.
“Oh, no eclairs today?”
Hermione handed a customer a box of a dozen red velvet cupcakes before turning her attention to Malfoy.
“Yes, very sorry,” she replied, though she didn’t actually feel any regret about it all. “It’s not personal. They just take too much effort for the price we were charging. So we switched it with Lamingtons today. You know—since Australia won yesterday.”
“Alright then, I didn’t wait in line for nothing. I’ll take a box of Lamingtons.”
Hermione nodded and reached over to grab a box from where they were sitting near Ginny’s register.
“Thanks. Later, Granger.”
And she didn’t think much of it at the time. She merely gave him a pleasant goodbye before returning to the next customer.
But once the crowd had died down again at the end of the night, she found herself looking back at the counter as they counted the money in the till and packed everything away again.
“Relax, Hermione. It’s still only the second day, you’ll see Oliver soon.”
For some reason, that made Hermione’s mind stall—oh right, Oliver. She shook her head and laughed softly. “You’re right, I’m being silly.”
“Yeah, well, he makes you a bit silly.”
It was such an off-handed comment. As though Ginny was stating a universal truth. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Hermione Granger is silly about Oliver Wood. The kind of thing children don’t need to be taught, they all just know it.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not really yourself around him,” Ginny replied. She’d stopped in her movements, looking up at Hermione thoughtfully before continuing, “You’re like a giggling schoolgirl when he’s around. He explains things to you and you listen quietly, it’s—I don’t know, maybe I’m talking out of my ass. Forget I said anything.”
Hermione knew that Ginny had only stopped her explanation because there were tears in her eyes. But she also knew that Ginny had a point. She’d always felt that Oliver brought out a different side of her. And in the beginning, she liked it. It was the side of her that loved being in love. Maybe she was still chasing that feeling, even if the object of her affection no longer deserved it.
Her reply to Ginny was soft. “No, it’s okay. You’re right.”
There was still no sign of Oliver for the next few days. And even though Hermione had since decided it was probably for the best, she was still a bit disappointed. She’d had a few arguments with him in her head that she was excited to play out in real life. Perhaps she’d been too kind to him the last time she saw him, merely rolling over and letting him end their relationship again without much protest from her.
But in contrast, she didn’t go a day without seeing Malfoy. He always greeted her with a smile, his dimple on full display, his long, fair lashes reflecting sunlight. And he ordered something new each day, seemingly eager to try the whole menu.
“Have you joined the mailing list?” Hermione asked him curiously after she handed him a package of banana nut muffins.
“If you want my home address, Granger, you need only ask.” The smile he tossed her way was teeming with wicked delight.
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat as she looked from his smile up to his eyes. Was he flirting with her? Was he accusing her of flirting with him? And why did that thought send shockwaves of excitement coursing through her veins?
She bit back a smile, and opened her mouth to reply when she heard someone uttering her name in surprise from somewhere beside them.
It was Oliver, she realized with a sinking feeling. She’d never felt disappointment at the sight of him before.
“Mione, I never expected to see you here,” Oliver said with a grin, coming around the counter to greet her with a hug.
Hermione glimpsed the sight of Malfoy’s retreating back over Oliver’s shoulder, and her stomach sank further.
“Have you been keeping up with the games? Nigeria’s win yesterday was one of the most beautiful games I’ve ever seen. You know, I met Chinonso Okafor, their keeper, a few years ago at a game in Wales. I showed him one of the moves I’d come up with, and he said he liked it a lot. I haven’t seen him or his team apply it in their games but…”
Hermione grimaced as she stared back at him. How had she ever found this man charming?
“Oliver, I’m busy right now,” she said, cutting him off and moving back toward her register.
He waited until she finished with the next customer to say, “Hermione, I’m so sorry that I ended things. I was just being a tosser because of the way the qualifying matches went but—I didn’t mean it. I love you, we belong together.”
“Oliver,” she hissed. “If you want to buy something, you’ll need to get in the back of the line. Otherwise, I’m busy right now.”
The reality of Oliver walking away from her with his tail between his legs was better than any screaming match she’d fantasized about.
“Strange that Malfoy didn't come to pay you a visit today,” Ginny noted as she scrubbed the counter after they’d closed the next evening.
Hermione looked up sharply from where she’d been counting the till. “Pay me a visit? He just likes your pastries, Gin.” Her reply was far too hasty, she realized.
“I’m sure he does,” Ginny replied. “But isn’t it odd that he always ends up in the line for your register? Surely yours isn’t the shorter line every time.”
That hadn’t even crossed her mind. She’d been too self-conscious around him. Had her face lit up too brightly when she’d spotted him? Did he notice that her statement came out like a question? Did he care?
“I—“ but Hermione wasn’t sure. She…what? “I don’t know where he went,” she finally said quietly.
Ginny handed her a folded piece of paper, a small smirk on her face. “He joined the mailing list, and I don’t think this address is meant for me.”
Hermione knit her brows in confusion and unfolded the piece of paper slowly before a laugh bubbled out of her.
Written inside, in careful handwriting, were the words: “Draco Lucius Malfoy, the largest tent on the grounds, a few meters from the ticket booth.”
She insisted that she finish helping Ginny with everything at their stand, but Ginny protested, saying that Hermione was wasting time. So she and her rapidly thumping heart made their way toward the ticket booth, on the other side of the grounds. It was really quite a walk. And Malfoy made the trip every day since the tournament began, even in the heat of the summer.
Her pace slowed as she caught sight of the ticket booth, and she could see one tent in particular that towered over the rest. Just in front of it, there was a bonfire, and a few people gathered around it. A few steps later, and she could recognize Blaise Zabini, where he sat near Theodore Nott. Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass were also seated with them, each with a mug in their hands.
Malfoy sat in between all of his friends, visibly slumped in his seat, staring at the fire while his friends chatted animatedly around him.
Then Pansy Parkinson spotted her. “Is that—Granger?”
They all looked up. And Hermione didn’t miss the way that Malfoy straightened at the sight of her. He looked as dumbfounded as his friends for a few moments before he stood.
“Yes, I invited her,” he told his friends with a confident smile, swaggering over to her before guiding her out of their sight, behind a nearby tent.
“Malfoy, I’m so sorry—“
“Granger, I’m so sorry—“
They stared at each for a moment.
But Malfoy shook his head. “No, really. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry that I had the nerve to try to…flirt with you. You’ve been nothing but nice to me, and I got carried away.”
“Oh,” was all Hermione said.
He visibly swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment. “You didn’t even realize I was flirting, did you? I’m just embarrassing myself more, aren’t I?”
“What? No!” Hermione said. “I—I knew you were flirting. I was flattered.”
His eyes flew open. “You were?”
“Yes,” Hermione told him with a laugh, suddenly struck by the absurdity of the situation. “I’m embarrassed that I let my stupid ex-boyfriend interrupt us. I was going to say something extremely witty and clever.”
Malfoy’s expression lit up. “Really? What were you going to say?”
“I can't remember it now, but I can assure you, you would’ve been impressed.”
“I’m difficult to impress,” Malfoy replied, but he was smiling, and it was kind.
Her cheeks hurt from grinning back at him, and she let out a laugh. It sounded nothing like a giggle. It came from somewhere deep in her belly. It was her real laugh, she realized. A sound she hadn’t heard in ages.
“Well, in that case…” Malfoy began, and she could see color appearing on his cheeks, illuminated by the lights of the surrounding bonfires. “I’d love to see you again sometime. Maybe for dinner, or drinks, or coffee, or…I don’t know, I could help you run your errands. Anything you want.”
“Anything I want? I like the sound of that.”