Chapter Text
Cold. When her eyes meet him from across the Great Hall a shiver runs up her spine. His stare pierces through her like icicles, so cold and emotionless that she has to look away before the tears start to form. It is so unlike the gazes that she’d grown used to. Long gone were those days of soft eyes and shy smiles, of stolen kisses and thoughtful conversations. The part that troubled her most was that she had not a clue as to why he was acting so different. Why he was going out of his way to avoid her at all costs.
It had now been three days since Hermione had stepped off the Hogwarts Express and back onto the platform at Hogsmeade. The early autumn air had filled her lungs, and the wind had swept through her hair as she walked back towards the castle with some of her closest friends. Since the war had ruined their chances of a normal final year, the majority of her class had opted to return to Hogwarts for one last year before they had to begin the rest of their lives.
With Neville, Luna, Ginny, and Ron by her side, Hermione had walked back through the double doors of the castle, holding her breath as she looked around at all of the subtle changes that had been made during the summer that had followed the Battle of Hogwarts. There were new security devices posted at all of the entrances and exits, ensuring that nobody would be permitted onto the grounds without permission from the Headmistress. There were plenty more portraits this year, mainly housing the fallen peers and professors of the war. Their return was bittersweet, but after spending an entire summer trying to work through the aftermath of the war, they had all decided it was best to come back for one last year; they needed the closure, and they would receive far more support within the castle walls than they would throughout the rest of the wizarding world.
When they had stepped into the Great Hall for the welcome back feast, the entire room had erupted into applause. A hero’s welcome had been expected; these days they couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized and thanked for their contributions to the war effort, but Hermione wasn’t one for the spotlight, so she had stayed behind Ron who enjoyed basking in the glory. Hermione snuck off towards the rest of the Gryffindors, pulling Ginny down beside her as Headmistress McGonagall began her welcome back speech, sorted the new first years, and then commenced the feast.
As they ate, Hermione’s eyes wandered across the hall toward the table on the opposite end from hers. Green ties and headbands filled her field of vision, but that wasn’t what she was scanning the table for. She was searching for silver. A pair of silver irises that she had gotten used to drowning in over the summer. The same silver shade that she had grown used to seeing shortly before falling asleep and immediately when waking up. When she finally found them, they turned their attention back to the meal in front of them.
Hermione frowned, but she refused to think much of it. Instead, she went back to her own meal and caught up with old friends who she hadn’t seen all summer. However, it had now been three days, and she hadn’t heard from him. In fact, she had barely even seen him around the castle unless they were in the Great Hall during meals. When she had tried to grab his attention on her way to potions the day prior, he had nearly taken off in a run in the other direction. He skipped the class altogether. He was clearly avoiding her, and she did not know why, but she intended to find out.
What nobody knew about Hermione Granger’s summer was that she had not actually spent it traveling across Europe. Nobody knew that the postcards she had sent were bought in a tiny souvenir shop in downtown London or that the knick-knacks she had bought for them had all been ordered online. Nobody, not even Ginny who she confided everything in, knew that on June fifth Hermione had not been able to stop thinking about a blonde Slytherin, despite her best efforts to shake him out of her mind. Not a single soul knew that she had somehow found it in herself to roll off of her couch that day, after days of crying into the bottom of a bottle, and to get dressed before apparating herself to the front steps of Malfoy Manor.
The air was muggy and humid as her feet hit the solid ground. She groaned softly to herself, shutting her eyes for another minute as she waited for the wave of nausea to pass. She wasn’t completely sure if the nausea was from the apparating or the amount of alcohol sloshing around in her stomach. It subsided quickly, and when she reopened her eyes she saw the dark double doors leading to Malfoy Manor. A shiver ran up her spine as she recalled the last time she was here; bleeding and writhing in pain on the drawing room floor.
Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers over her forearm where the horrific brand had previously been. She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought about her options. She had showed up here on a whim, but she wasn’t sure what she intended to do now that she was actually standing here. She’d been preoccupied with her thoughts about Draco bloody Malfoy and how he was doing after the war, and her inability to rid her mind of him had forced her to make a stupid, rash decision.
It had all started when she’d picked up the morning copy of The Daily Prophet a few days ago. The front page had announced that Lucius Malfoy had been tried for his crimes and would be facing forty years in Azkaban. His wife, Narcissa, had been freed of all charges after Harry’s testimony that she had saved his life which had ultimately led to Voldemort’s demise. Then, there was Draco. The boy who had been forced to rectify his father’s mistakes; the boy who had been given up to Voldemort in an attempt to save his father’s useless life. He was sentenced to two years of house arrest for his involvement, but ultimately the Wizengamot had taken pity on him.
The picture in The Prophet of Draco leaving Azkaban with his mother had stricken Hermione. She had never seen him look so broken. In all of the years that she’d known him, he’d been nothing but confident, and cocky of course, and he’d walked around with his head held high, clearly seeming far better than those around him. Yet, he kept his head down as he had walked past the reporters waiting for him, refusing to give any statements, and insisting that he just wanted to get home.
At first, she’d been angry. He wanted to go home? To his mansion filled with life’s finest luxuriess and house elves who were willing to do whatever he asked of them? What about those who couldn’t return home? What about Lavender Brown and Fred Weasley who left holes in their families that nobody would ever be able to fill? What about Lupin and Tonks who had left behind a newborn son? What about her and the parents that she would never be able to know again?
Once her seething anger had subsided, she realized that she was overreacting. She knew Draco Malfoy, and while he had been an outright git to her when they were younger and refused to see her as his equal because of his damned upbringing on pureblood ideals, he wasn’t a murderer, and he wasn’t an evil man. She understood what it was like to have to make impossible choices. She understood what it meant to have to protect your loved ones at the cost of your own beliefs and morals. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to return home in peace when she had been dying to do it herself. She wasn’t angry, she was jealous. Jealous of the way he got to return home to his mother when she would never know what it felt like to be in her own mother’s arms again. Jealous that he had a home to return to when hers had been ransacked by death eaters during the war.
Yet, even when she had gotten rid of her anger and tossed The Prophet into her trash bin, she still found her mind wandering to Draco Malfoy. She tried to read to get him off of her mind, but he remained there; lingering in the background as she scanned page after page. Then, one particularly lonely night, when it had been just her and her favorite bottle of fairy wine, she cried for him. She couldn’t even imagine how broken she would be if she didn’t have some of the greatest friends in the world. While she had separated herself from them for the time being, needing a bit of space to clear her own head and fight off her own demons, she still loved them more than anything in the world, and she knew that they would all be waiting for her with open arms when she was ready to return to them. Who did Draco have? What good was a gigantic house if it was empty and devoid of love?
Now, she was sober with her hand balled into a tight fist, ready to knock on the door. She wasn’t sure of what she would say to him or if he would even let her inside, but she had a strange need to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this world; that they were all just as fucked up as he was after this godforsaken war. She hesitated before delivering the knock. This was a silly idea; they had never gotten along during their school years; surely, he would think this was some kind of sick joke. She sighed to herself, lowering her arm and getting ready to apparate back to her flat. She swore to herself that she was going to stop drinking; clearly, it only led her to make horrific life choices.
“Miss Granger, is that you?”
The soft, soothing voice stopped Hermione in her tracks as she headed down the obscenely long driveway back towards the apparition point. She cleared her throat as she turned to find Narcissa Malfoy standing near the gate to the garden, slipping off her gardening gloves. Hermione felt her cheeks heat up, her throat dry as she attempted to think of a reason for being here.
“Hi, Mrs. Malfoy. It’s good to see you.” She choked out as the woman walked closer to her, her eyes soft as she came to stand in front of Hermione. “I’m sorry for just popping up out of nowhere. I um, I’m not really sure why I’m here to be honest.”
Merlin, this was embarrassing. She’d only spoken to Narcissa Malfoy a handful of times, and each time it was only to exchange pleasantries in passing. Now, she was standing in her front yard like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Well, now that you’ve come all this way, would you like to come inside? I can have Mippy put some tea on, if you’d like.” The woman offered a kind smile as Hermione found herself nodding yes to the invitation. She followed Narcissa inside, stopping to admire the artwork and stunning architecture that covered the entire mansion.
Narcissa led Hermione through a few rooms before ultimately reaching their destination. The back patio had a gorgeous view of Narcissa’s garden where roses and lilies bloomed. There were water sculptures and beautiful peacocks lining the entire yard, and Hermione found herself speechless as Narcissa called for their main house elf. Mippy popped up quickly, smiling widely at Narcissa. It didn’t slip Hermione’s mind that Mippy was wearing clothing instead of the usual, ripped pillowcase that most houselves wore.
“Are you enjoying your summer thus far?” Narcissa asked, gesturing for Hermione to take a seat. Hermione settled into her chair and shrugged her shoulders, fixing her horrid posture as she noticed the way that Narcissa’s back was pin straight.
“It’s alright. I’ve been mostly keeping to myself.” Hermione admitted. Narcissa nodded, but Hermione didn’t miss the way that her eyes grew sad.
Mippy returned with the tea, setting everything up for the two women before returning to the kitchen. Narcissa and Hermione poured their tea into stunning saucers before settling into a comfortable conversation, mainly about the different books that they’d read recently. Slowly, Hermione began to relax, her shoulders growing less tense as she allowed herself to get lost in conversation with a woman she hardly knew. They were in the middle of a riveting conversation about the latest edition of A History of Magic when the back door pushed open.
“Granger?”
Hermione turned as she heard her name, and she gasped softly when she locked eyes with Draco, leaning against the doorframe with his eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion. Her throat went dry as she stared at him, just a few feet ahead of her, clad in nothing but a pair of dark green sweatpants and socks. His chest was completely exposed, and Hermione could clearly see every defined muscle as he crossed his arms across his chest, his biceps bulging out as he did so. His hair was longer now, coming across his forehead instead of constantly being slicked back with an absurd amount of hairgel. Yet, the thing that caught Hermione’s attention most was the number etched into his skin, just near his collarbone; they had marked him with a prison number during his short stay in Azkaban, and Hermione’s heart sunk into her stomach at the sight of it. They had put that wretched number into his skin before his trial had ended; before he had been declared a free man.
Draco noticed where her eyes had fallen, and he quickly summoned his t-shirt, slipping it over his head. Hermione snapped out of her trance, licking her dry lips as she took her teacup into her shaky hand.
“Draco, darling, come join us. Miss Granger and I were just having a lovely conversation about the newest edition of Bathilda’s book.” Narcissa smiled kindly at Hermione who returned a reassuring smile, her eyes glued to her tea and not the absurdly tall man in front of her. She heard Draco snort.
“Of course you were talking about books. Granger doesn’t know how to talk about anything else.” He chuckled as he came to sit beside Hermione, the proximity making her palms sweat. She never should have come here.
He took a few of the tea sandwiches that Mippy had brought out and began to eat, leaning back in his chair as Hermione returned her cup to the table.
“How bold of you to assume you know anything about me, Malfoy.” She muttered, wiping the corners of her mouth with the cloth napkin that had been sitting on her lap. She looked over at Narcissa who was eyeing both Hermione and her son with a twinkle in her eye.
“Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Malfoy, but I think I’ll be on my way now. It was lovely seeing you.” Hermione pushed her chair back and stood, and Narcissa followed, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on Hermione’s cheek.
“Please, feel free to stop by at any time, Miss Granger. You’re such a pleasure. Draco, be a dear and walk her out.” Narcissa smiled towards her son who was quick to roll his eyes, tossing the remainder of his half eaten sandwich onto his plate before coming to his feet.
Hermione shook her head, heading towards the door in a hurry and nearly tripping over her two feet. Draco’s hands grabbed her waist, steadying her before she shook herself out of his grip. She waved one last goodbye to Narcissa before following Draco back into the manor and towards the front door.
“Why’d you come here, Granger?” He asked, standing in the front parlor with her as she reached for the door handle. She froze for a second, wondering if she should even give him an answer. Truth be told, she didn’t have one. She couldn’t tell him that she’d been thinking about him, and she was sure he’d feel insulted if she admitted that she had worried about him. She shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know.” She admitted. Draco chuckled, his hand coming up to sweep his hair back off of his forehead.
“Here I thought you had the answers for everything.”
She rolled her eyes at him, leaning against the back of the door as he looked down at her from a few feet away. He really had grown tremendously since the last time that she’d seen him. Not only that, but it seemed as though he was making great use of his house arrest because he was far from that scrawny boy she knew in sixth year.
“Like I said, Malfoy, you don’t know me.” She huffed, crossing her arms under her breasts. The movement pushed them upward, and Draco didn’t miss the way that it gave him the perfect view of her cleavage. She was wearing a tight scoop necked t-shirt and a pair of old denim shorts. He took a long moment to drag his eyes up the length of her legs. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
“You were checking me out earlier.” He stated it as a fact, as though he was fully aware of what she had been gaping at earlier.
“You’re checking me out right now.” She retorted, dropping her arms to give him less to look over. He chuckled, shrugging his broad shoulders shamelessly. She felt her cheeks flush when he didn’t deny it.
He took a few steps forward, coming to stand directly in front of her. Her breath hitched as the smell of mint and cedarwood flooded her senses. He was nearly a foot taller than her, towering over her as he leaned down slightly. The air in her lungs got stuck there as she looked up, wide eyed, watching him lower his head the slightest bit more. He licked his lips, his eyes flicking down to her own plump, pink lips before letting out a breathy sigh. She gulped down the lump in her throat, wondering why she couldn’t bring her arms up to push him back. She was heating up, her entire body on fire as she breathed him in.
He reached around her and pulled the front door open, the warm June breeze filling the parlor as he took a step away from her, giving her the space to breathe and find her head. On suddenly shaky legs she stepped around him to get outside. He leaned against the doorframe, his ankles crossed as he watched her descend down the stairs.
“Granger.” He called after her. She turned around, her eyebrows raised in question as a smirk fell onto his lips. “Would you have let me?”
The question confused her. “Let you what?”
“Kiss you.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, watching his smirk widen when she didn’t give him an immediate no.
The truth was that Hermione would have killed to feel something other than dread and agony. Even if that feeling was lust for someone that she was supposed to hate; it would be better than what she had spent the past few weeks running away from. It didn’t matter. She was never going to see him again after today, so she shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know.” She repeated her answer from before, turning on her heel and heading back towards the apparition point.
Back in her flat, she fell down onto her couch, reaching beneath it for the bottle of wine that had rolled under a few nights prior. She summoned a glass from her kitchen, filling it with the deep red liquid before setting the bottle down and picking the glass up. She placed it to her lips, feeling the first tears of the night begin to fall. A few more glasses and she would be numb.
An owl tapped on her window, and she sighed, walking over to let the bird in. She picked the letter up from its mouth and sent it back off to its owner. Unwrapping the letter, she noticed Ginny’s handwriting immediately.
Hope you’re having the best time in Austria! Missing you loads back home. Xx Gin
A pang of guilt tore through her as she let the letter join the others in the pile. Her friends would have been so ashamed to learn what she had actually spent the last few weeks doing; drinking herself sick instead of traveling the continent.
She returned to the couch, flopping down on it, careful not to spill her wine when another tap sounded at her window. She groaned loudly, wondering who it could be now. She walked back over to her window, taking the parchment from an owl she’d never seen before. She unfolded the note, her cheeks flushing darker than her wine as she read the elegant handwriting.
Want to finish what we started? DM
She eyed the wine glass in her hand, shame enveloping her as she stared at the red liquid. She had lost count of the amount of bottles that she’d been through recently, using it to numb her pain and to help her forget all that she had lost. Surely, there were better ways to cope. She could see a therapist, she could throw herself into a new, productive hobby, she could join a support group. She could use her childhood enemy as a distraction. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do than sit around at home. All of her friends thought she was galavanting through Europe. Did she really want to get sexually involved with Draco Malfoy? Why was her brain immediately going to sex? All he’d initially offered was a kiss. Was she really that desperate to feel something other than pain?
She groaned, placing the unfinished glass of wine on her table before heading towards her bathroom. A hot shower would help clear her head from all of these ridiculous ideas. However, the longer she stood under the hot water, the more she found herself thinking about the way that Draco Malfoy’s lips would feel pressed against hers. She switched the water to cold before rinsing off and stepping out into her bathroom, wrapping her towel tightly around her.
Lying in her bed with a pounding headache and a heavy heart, Hermione let herself cry into her pillows for what felt like the millionth night in a row. Tomorrow will be better, she vowed to herself. It wasn’t.
Thinking about that first day at the manor, the day that ultimately led to an entire summer of memories, Hermione began to grow sad. She watched as Draco stood from the Slytherin table, sneaking out of the hall in a hurry. Chewing on her lip, Hermione stood from her seat, mumbling something to her friends about the library before taking off after him.
Rounding the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks as she found him. She felt her heart drop down into her stomach, a wave of nausea hitting her, as she watched Draco kiss Pansy Parkinson, his body pressed roughly against hers as he kissed her as though his life depended on it. He’d kissed her with the same urgency and need just a week prior, against the bookshelves in the library at the manor.
“Didn’t take you for a voyeur, Granger.”
Her eyes snapped up to Pansy’s, the satisfied smirk on her face making Hermione want to lunge at her, but her feet stayed planted on the ground. Hermione looked over to Draco, his eyes still dark and cold as he looked over at her without an ounce of guilt or regret.
The lump in her throat grew difficult to swallow past, but she refused to let him see her cry. After all that they’d been through and all of the time that they’d spent together, he was quick to toss her away as though she hadn’t stayed up countless nights holding his shaking body or memorized every inch of his body.
She turned on her heel and walked back towards Gryffindor tower. She calmly walked up to her dormitory which she was sharing with Ginny. Thankfully, the fiery redhead wasn’t back yet. Hermione climbed into bed, drawing the curtains around her four poster. She cast a silencing charm, and only then did she allow herself to cry. The tears fell down her cheeks in a silent sob as she tried to make sense of where they had gone wrong.