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Hermione jogged down the street. As the most renowned mediwitch in her generation (and possibly the entire universe) and a famed political activist, she was often in a hurry - today was no exception.
She had just had a mental breakthrough regarding a rejuvenation potion she was working on. It was meant to restore damaged or aged cells, and had the potential to cure the lingering memory lapses her parents still experienced, even now. It had been ten years since she had been forced to obliviate them. She had been studying and developing her own counter spells and potions ever since. Her breakthrough had come while she was cleaning her flat. A cockroach had scuttled out from under her sofa, and she had had spent three hours trying to kill it, before she finally gave up and avada kedavrad it. No one needed to know. But that had made her realize - cockroaches were well-known beacons of wild magic. Their self-healing abilities were par none. If she could extract it, cockroach magic could be the missing ingredient in her rejuvenation potion.
As she jogged, Hermione heard someone crying, “Ahh. Flopsy is sorry. Flopsy is very sorry.” The cries of the weak and under-represented activated Hermione’s political activist brain, and she jogged over to where a portly wizard was hitting his house-elf with a large tome.
“Excuse me,” she said, “under Statute 37,604B3A2, it is unlawful to deliver a severe punishment to a house elf for minor infractions. If you continue to hit this elf you could fracture a bone, which qualify as severe. Failure to adhere to this policy could result in a fine of up to 200 galleons, or up to three months in prison.”
“Shut up, hag,” said the portly man, who continued hitting the elf. “That’s not a real law. I can do whatever I want to my elf.”
“Actually,” said Hermione primly, “You can’t. Statutes 37,600-37,640 all relate to restrictions and limitations on what has been deemed unacceptable treatment of our elfish compatriots.” She knew the laws well. She had written them.
The man sneered at her. “You’re talking like a filthy mud blood. Do you even know who I am? Apologize to me right now, or I’ll order the elf not to heal herself after this, and it will be all your fault.” He dealt a particularly nasty blow to the elf.
Hermione felt her eyes welling up with tears. If she left to report the man he could beat the elf even further. If she apologized now, he would likely still punish the elf more harshly. She hadn’t helped at all, only made things worse. Now her only options were to reason with the man further, or imperious him into releasing his hold of the elf.
Just as she opened her mouth, another man stepped into view.
Hermione gasped. The new man was tall - much taller than her or the portly wizard. He had strong shoulders, clad in a pitch-black, perfectly tailored suit. He had no flaws, except perhaps that his hairline was potentially just beginning to maybe thin out slightly at the edges. He turned to stare imperiously down at the portly wizard. Because of how tall he was, he had to angle his head in a way that would look awkward on most wizards, but on this man it only served to emphasize his sharp jawline and statuesque features. His eyes were piercing silver. It was Draco Malfoy.
“You’re right” he said. His voice was smooth dark deep molasses-rich enchanting etc. “I don’t know who you are. And I don’t care. Now let go of the elf”
The portly wizard spluttered. “You - you. Malfoy. You can’t just - this is my elf. You don’t get to just order me around.” He pulled out his wand and waved it shakily at Malfoy.
Malfoy scoffed. “I think you’ll find that I can.” He pulled out his own wand. Then he paused.
The portly wizard drew courage from this hesitation. “Hah! I knew it. You wouldn’t dare.”
“No.” Malfoy said. “That’s not it. I just decided that I don’t need a wand to deal with the likes of you.”
Hermione’s breath hitched. Was he going to use his bare fists? She wasn’t - she wasn’t against that. Malfoy put his wand back away, and the portly wizard sighed in relief. Then Malfoy pulled a gun from inside his suit jacket and shot the other wizard in the chest. Hermione muffled a scream with both hands, and felt her heartbeat quicken as Malfoy blew the smoke away from the tip of the gun’s silencer.
The portly wizard had collapsed on the ground, and was now crawling away. He reached out a gloved hand to the house-elf that he’d previously been beating.
“Flop-sy.” He gurgled. “Take —- take.”
“Oh how sweet,” said Malfoy. “He’s using his dying breath to free his house-elf, by offering her his glove.” Malfoy knelt down by the house-elf. “You should accept, Flopsy. I’m sure you’ve earned it.” The house-elf looked dazed for a moment, then her gaze cleared and she pulled the glove off of her master’s outstretched hand. “Flopsy is a free elf!” She cried. She picked up the tome her former master had dropped, beat him several times over the head with it, and then disapparated with a loud CRACK.
The portly wizard heaved a last gasp of air and died. Draco vanished him. Then he turned to Hermione.
“Granger,” he started.
“No.” Said Hermione breathlessly. “Call me Hermione.”
Malfoy’s ivory alabaster moon-like pale skin turned 1/1000th of a shade redder.
“Hermione, then.” He coughed. “And you should call me Draco then. I just. Saw that man bothering you and had to step in. I know you could have handled it yourself, but-“ he looked up and smoldered directly at Hermione. She felt weak.
“Someone like you shouldn’t have to do that themselves.”
“Someone like me?”
“Yes.” He darted forwards and seized her hand. But it didn’t scare her. She felt, safe? “I couldn’t see it before - I was such an idiot. But you’re so smart, and kind, and clever, and beautiful. And I need to see you again.” Hermione looked away, blushing.
“No,” hissed Draco. He dropped her hand and used his to tilt her chin back towards him. “don’t look away from me. Never look away. Tell me you’ll see me again.”
His eyes were piercing silver grey mercury etc. Hermione couldn’t look away.
“O-ok,” she stuttered. “I need to go to my lab to do a thing. An important thing. But I’ll be at the leaky cauldron at six.”
Draco’s eyes shouldered even harder. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. “Very well then. Six it is.” Then he disapparated.
Hermione went to her labs in a daze. She couldn’t stop thinking about Draco. How confidently he’d faced down the abusive wizard. How kindly he’d treated Flopsy. How he’d absorbed his revolver’s kickback so effortlessly, without any change to his posture. Eventually Hermione copied down her notes on the cockroach magic idea and left - experimenting further right now wouldn’t be useful, and she had to meet Harry and Ron at the Cauldron soon anyway.
Wait - Harry and Ron! She cursed mentally. How could she have forgotten that her six o clock Leaky Cauldron appointment was with them. And now she’d invited Draco. She jogged her way to the Leaky Cauldron, hoping that maybe her friends had gotten day drunk again and forgotten their appointment. No luck. When she arrived, Harry and Ron were already sitting at their usual table. From the strong scent of fire whiskey wafting from them, the two were certainly day drunk, but not to the point where they started forgetting commitments. Yet.
“Hermione!!” called Harry. “You’re hear!! Bartender - send us another round to celebrate our friend’s arrival!”
“I think you mean here, Harry,” said Hermione as she sat down. “And you shouldn’t use so many exclamation points in short succession, they’ll start meaning less.”
“Oh, posh!!” shouted the boy who lived. He ruffled his bleached blonde hair and grinned roguishly at her. “Now let’s due some shots.”
“Please stop,” said Hermione.
“I will absolutely knot.” The shots arrived. Hermione threw back all three of them before Harry or Ron could react, to dull her sensitivity to her friend’s poor grammar.
She hadn’t planned on telling Harry and Ron about Draco, but five minutes after the shots, she was telling them about Draco.
“So then he shot the wizard. And did this whole thing to free the elf. And then he performed the cleanest vanishing charm I have seen since that time the aurors managed to get a warrant for your shroom cellar, and Ron had five minutes to clean house.”
Ron shook his head grimly, “that was one of the most painful days of my life. All those perfectly good hallucinogens. Gone forever.” Harry patted him on the shoulder. “Just remember what we did to the snitch,” he said consolingly. “That always makes me feel better.”
“You’re right. You’re right,” Ron nodded, and looked more cheerful.
Hermione hadn’t moved on from her topic.
“What is Draco even doing now?” She asked. “I haven’t seen him in years.”
Ron perked up. “You haven’t heard? He’s a prince now.”
“What?!” squawked Hermione.
“Yeah,” said Ron sagely. “A prince.”
“A prince of what, exactly?”
“The Veela.”
“What??!” Hermione put down her butter beer. “He’s a Veela? Since when?”
“Since his 18th birthday,” chimed in Harry. “That’s when he came into his inheritance, or whatever. Yeah, and then he became there prince, somehow, I don’t know all the details.”
“But he doesn’t spend much time ruling,” added Ron, “He’s too busy being the most successful duelist in our generation, and possibly the entire universe.”
Hermione took a heartening gulp of her butter beer, as a defensive mechanism. “And what does a duelist do?”
“Duels. Ob-vi-ous-ly,” said Harry.
“Wait but the way he became a billionaire-“
“He’s a billionaire??!!”
“Yes, yes,” said Ron impatiently. “Or maybe a trillionaire, who knows. Anyway the way he did that is he invented this system thing. It’s like this process - it’s hard to describe. But let’s say you have a company and you want to expand. Well this system would connect you to others who have money and they’ll give it to you, and then they’ll own like a small piece of your company. And then they can sell that piece of the company to other people. And if the company does well and more people want to own pieces of it than the price of all the pieces goes up. And you can also make bets on how the companies will do so that if one crashes you get money. And then you can also buy people’s debt and get paid a pre-agreed upon rate on top of the amount of the debt, and-“
“Wait, wait, wait.” Hermione waved her arms to cut him off. “You’re describing the stock market.”
Ron blinked. “Come again?”
“The stock market. The muggle stock market. The system they use to distribute funding to worthy investments and also make a tiny percentage of already rich people even richer. That’s what you’ve described.”
“Hmm,” said Ron. “Well maybe they got that from Malfoy. I don’t know He just invented it a few years ago, and made a ton of money off of it, and now he has his own company and makes a ton of money off that too. Too bad all the money in the world can’t save his hairline.”
“They didn’t get it from Malfoy-“
“I thought-” A deep melodic honey-smooth shudder-inducing etc voice issued from behind Hermione. “-that you’d agreed to call me Draco.”
Malfoy conjured a chair (throne?) made of two slabs of pure obsidian to their table and sat down.
“Hello, Hermione.” he paused, and shouldered, but with a slight frown. “Hermione. I’m sorry I’m late. Business came up.”
Hermione was blushing. Maybe from Draco’s proximity, or maybe from the 3+ drinks she’d consumed over the past half hour. She reached out, she needed to smooth out the furrows in his brow. He should never be frowning when he was with her. Wait- Hermione’s hand froze. Where did that thought come from?
“Oo-ooh,” simpered Harry. “Busi-ness. Fancy fancy, Malfoy. Or should I say, Draco?”
“You should not, Potter” Hissed Draco. His hand twitched towards his jacket, where Hermione knew he kept his revolver.
The sound of a gun cocking under the table made Draco pause. “Don’t even try it,” said Ron darkly. His hands were no longer visible. “I’d clock you faster than you could ever draw.”
Draco glowered, and withdrew his hand. He turned to Hermione, ignoring the other two completely.
“It’s good to see you again,” he said lowly. “I missed you.”
Hermione’s heart thudded. “I missed you too,” she said, before she could stop herself. “How have you been? In the past few hours, I mean. And also in the past ten years I guess, it’s been a while.”
Draco smirked. “Far too long. I’ve been well enough. I came back to London to look after my parents. My mother, you know, she’s not quite…the same… as she used to be,” he stared blankly into the distance, radiating understated angst.
“I know.” said Hermione. Draco looked at her. “I really do understand,” she repeated meaningfully. His angst aura reduced back to a manageable level and he sighed. “Before that, I traveled the world. Learned things. Done things. Changed. I’m so sorry for how I treated you back in school. I was so ignorant back then. I can never apologize enough.”
Hermione clutched her drink. It had been years since she thought about that part of Hogwarts. Not just Draco’s comments, but the glances from some of the students - Slytherins, Ravenclaws, even Gryffindors sometimes - the whispers when she walked by after scoring top marks on an exam. The time before Harry and Ron had befriended her, when somehow there was just less space for her than there was for others, in the common room, at the dining table, in classes, everywhere.
“Thank you for apologizing.” She said. Her voice was slightly choked. “That means a lot.”
Draco grabbed her hand, for the second time that day. “And you?” He asked. “How have you been?”
“Ohh,” Hermione tried to regain her composure. “I’ve been doing this and that. Just experimenting with potions. Writing some memos.”
“That’s an odd way of referring to your 4,210 patented new medical elixirs and 65 penned statutes,” said Draco. Hermione gasped. “How did you - well - how did you know that?” She moved to withdraw her hand. Draco clenched it tighter, and smoldered directly into her eyes. “How could I not know? How could I ignore you?”
He leaned in. Hermione leaned in to, drawn closer by some force. They were inches away from each other, almost
A giant translucent hoof appeared in between them, and Hermione jerked back, coming to her senses.
“Hello-o!” called Harry, annoyed. “Remember us?” His patronus settled in between her and Draco, looking as smug as a deer possible could be. Malfoy leaned back in his throne as well, and glared at Harry.
“Potter, I will literally murder you and vanish your body,” he said.
“Oo-ooh,” the simper was back. “I’m sew scared now. Are you scared, Ron?”
“Terrified,” said Ron. “Shaking in my one-of-a-kind dragon leather Doc Martins.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed into slits. Ron smiled. “Oh that’s right. The designer mentioned that you’d wanted to buy these too. Said you’d offered almost a million galleons for them.”
Draco growled.
“Pity,” shrugged Ron. “You know what they say - never send money to do a case of the finest shrooms in England’s job.”
Draco’s hand strayed back towards his jacket. Then he paused, and visibly took a deep breath.
“Whatever.” He looked back at Hermione. He was still holding her hand, she suddenly realized. “Hermione, will you come see me again tonight? I need to show you something.”
“Yes,” Hermione blurted out. “Of course. Where?”
“Diagon Square. Ten o clock.”
“I’ll be there,” she squeezed his hand. Draco smiled, his angelic smooth clear ivory etc skin turning another 1/1000th of a shade red.
“Bye then, for now.” He got up, and vanished his throne.
“Damn,” whistled Harry, “that really is one of the cleanest vanishing charms I’ve seen in years. Malfoy, mate, if you ever need a job, I have some work that would suit you well.”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “You’re not so bad after all, Malfoy. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if you ended up with Hermione.”
“What the fuck, Ron?!” Shrieked Hermione.
“Sure, sure,” said Harry, “And I heard somewhere that kids get they’re hairlines from their mother’s side, so it would be safe enough for their kids, at least four a generation, if you know what I mean,” he used his entire head to gesture at Draco’s hair.
“I fucking detest your despicable grammar and also everything else about you, Potter,” said Draco, then he left.
Hermione spent another few hours at the bar with Harry and Ron, sobering up, and thinking about how Malfoy meant to her. Her life had been fine before he re-entered it. Fine, but not - incredible. Draco was an incredible person. Sure, he was a capitalist through and through, and also possibly using his Veela powers to seduce her, but she was still so - intrigued?
Hermione decided to leave early for Diagon Square, to leave some time for any potential elf rescues/fainted women in need of emergency treatment/debates on magical creature rights/etc. None occurred, for once, and she arrived at Diagon Square early.
The square was almost empty, and she picked Draco out in a heartbeat, eyes drawn easily to his height and shining hair. She smiled, and started towards him ready to call out his name, then she froze, his name dying on her lips. He wasn’t alone. He was with another woman. Hermione recognized her as Astoria Greengrass, gorgeous, bright, rich, and definitely 100% pure-blooded. They spoke for a moment, then embraced. Hermione couldn’t look away. Draco and Astoria were pressed closely together, Draco was whispering something in Astoria’s ear. Hermione had been such a fool. She took a step back, and somehow Draco’s eyes snapped up and met hers from across the square. They widened.
Hermione couldn’t stay any longer, and turned away.
“Hermione!” She heard a rich deep mournful soulful smooth voice call out behind her. “Hermione wait.”
She broke into a job, and then a run. Years of constantly being in a hurry had given her decent stamina.
“Hermione, please, just listen to me.”
She heard footsteps pounding behind her, and ran faster. But it wasn’t enough. In retrospect, she realized she probably should just disapparate instead of trying to run from a man who was at least 20cm taller than her. It was too late. A hand grasped her own (for the third time that day), reeling her in, while Draco’s other arm locked around her waist.
“Let me go, Malfoy,” she hissed. Her eyesight was blurry for some reason, and her cheeks were damp.
“No,” said Draco. “No it’s not what you think. Astoria and I aren’t together.”
“That’s not what it looked like,” she snarled.
“Please, Hermione,” Draco smoldered agonizingly at her. “We’re just friends. She was just saying goodbye.”
Hermione blinked. “Goodbye?”
“Yes. She wants to get out of England and become a wizarding engineer or something and go live with her girlfriend somewhere far away from her family. She’s leaving for the New World later today.”
“Oh,” Heat prickled at Hermione’s cheeks. “Oh, oh that’s. Good for her. Thats - wait did you just say the New World?”
Draco nodded, bringing their clasped hands up. “Hermione, I need to say something to you.”
“No - no Draco I owe you an apology, I shouldn’t have doubted you,” she paused, “But really quickly, as a final doubt, just to confirm, you’re not using your Veela powers on me right?”
Draco shook his head, “I would never.”
“Oh, good, good - anyway-“
“Hermione, listen to me,” he pressed his forehead against hers like he’d done earlier that day - had it really only been that day? Wow. He smoldered earnestly darkly vulnerably and possessively into her eyes. She was overwhelmed for a moment by the sheer number of adverbs his gaze contained.
“Now that I’ve met you again,” he continued. “I don’t think I can go back to life without you. Tell me - do you feel the same?”
“Draco, I-“ Hermione trailed off as something soft fell on her head. “What the?” She reached up to her hair and pulled away - a sock? Another sock landed on the square by their feet. And another, a bit further off. And another sock. Hermione craned her head up - in the lamplight, she saw countless socks floating down from the sky.
“What on earth is going on?” She whispered.
Draco finally released her waist, and stepped back. “This is what I wanted to show you, Hermione. This is how I feel for you.” He gestured to the falling socks.
“You feel…socks…for me?”
Draco laughed. “These aren’t just any socks. These are socks I purchased with my company’s money.”
“Oh…,” said Hermione. “Ok, they’re corporate socks.”
“My company, Hermione.” Draco smiled, “There’s not a wealthy wizarding family in the world who doesn’t own some of my company’s stocks. They’re the ones funding my company, which means they’re the ones who are funding these socks. Each and every one of these are their socks.”
Hermione looked down at the sock she was holding. Her mind was racing. “Their socks,” she said, “So they’re the ones, indirectly, who’ve given me this sock. And if an elf picked it up - oh Draco!!” She flung herself towards him, and he caught her. Hermione laughed into his chest. “You clever, absurd man. Any elf that wanted to could free themselves.”
She pulled back. “But what if people try to get rid of them too quickly?”
Draco crouched down and reached out to yank at the sock by their feet. It didn’t budge. “Permanent sticking charms.” He said proudly. “A charm that can only be released by wild magic, like kind that elves wield, or an incredibly powerful vanishing spell. These socks are here to stay.”
“Ohhhhh,” said Hermione slowly, looking around at the square that was now permanently sprinkled with socks. “Well that’s. That will be fun.”
She looked back down at where Draco was still tugging proudly on the unmoving sock. He was indeed incredible, and thoughtful, and handsome, and funny, and all the other adjectives. She loved him.
“Draco, I love you,” she said. His eyes widened, and he rose to his feet.
“Hermione,” he pulled her close, “I love you too. So much.”
Finally, he leaned in. They kissed for the first time, there, in the deserted square, under the lamp light, with corporate socks still falling around them.
Epilogue
Andddd the two of them live happily ever after. Many elves in unhappy situations free themselves that night, and over the next few days. Socks become a permanent part of the wizarding landscape.
Ron is discovered to be the only wizard in England capable of vanishing the socks, winning himself untold amounts of soft power.
Harry releases his own brand of fire whiskey, called Very Hotter, and continues to misuse the English language.
Hermione successfully harnesses the power of cockroach magic for her rejuvenation potion. She uses it to cure her parents’ memories, and many other ailments, including male pattern baldness, much to the silent relief of her now-husband, Draco.