Archive of Our Own

Hermione sat on a bench in front of the Basilique du Sacré Coeur, in the heart of Monmartre in Paris, journal open in her lap. She twisted the cap of her pen and stared out over the city. In the distance, she could see the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the muddied waters of the Seine winding lazily through the landscape. She sighed, her head drooping down as she stared at the book in her lap. She blinked to steady her gaze, surprised to see the splashes of tears on the parchment pages. She didn’t think she’d have any more tears left, but… she wiped at her cheeks angrily, putting her pen down at her side and picking up the café au lait she had gotten from the pâtisserie at the bottom of the hill, sipping it slowly.

She had stood outside the shop for a few moments, watching children playing on the carousel, until the sight of a red-haired woman had reminded her of Ginny. Her sister-in-law – former sister-in-law, she reminded herself bitterly – and Harry had insisted on taking Rose and Hugo on a two-week camping holiday in Wales with them, leaving Hermione free to get away on her own. It had been difficult, trying to care for the children by herself – Ron was staying with his parents, so Molly and the Burrow hadn’t been a viable option for childcare. While she knew that eventually she would calm down and be able to have a civil conversation with Ron and arrange a visitation schedule with him, right now she still wanted to hex his balls off every time she even thought his name. Since she did not want her children watching her hex their father, it was best if they had some time apart, right now.

Although if he thought that she was letting that tramp Lavender anywhere near her children, he was sadly mistaken.

Across the courtyard of the basilica, a man narrowed his eyes as he watched her. He was impeccably dressed, his cuffs and tie proclaiming him to be more than well-off, and his pale blond hair gleamed in the sunlight as he started towards her.

Hermione started as a voice from behind asked, “May I join you?” She was about to refuse when two things registered: the question had been asked in English, and… she knew that voice. She looked up in surprise.

“Draco Malfoy! I didn’t think I’d see you until the next Ministry ball! What are you doing here?” Draco’s lips curled in a smile as he sat down beside her.

“Malfoy Enterprises has worldwide holdings,” he said easily. “I spend quite a bit of time in Europe, overseeing things.” Hermione smiled softly.

“That suits you, I think,” she said with a soft chuckle. “Busily running your empire.” He laughed, his eyes lighting up with mirth.

“I would wager most of my directors would agree with you, although I hope that the employees see me in a rather more favourable light,” he joked. He looked out across the city, savouring the view. “I love coming up here. It’s one of my favourite places in Paris.” Hermione nodded.

“I love it, also. I haven’t been here in years, but I used to spend hours wandering through the markets –“ she indicated both the foot of the hill and the warren of alleyways behind them “-and sitting here reading and writing.” He smiled at her flash of enthusiasm, but then the moment passed, and he sobered.

“I heard about what happened with you and Ron. I’m sorry.” Hermione looked at him in dismay.

“Please don’t tell me that the Prophet got hold of the story,” she moaned, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t think I could bear it. The children will be-“

“Your children will be fine,” Draco interrupted her firmly. “They have an incredibly strong, independent, beautiful witch as a mother, who more than makes up for their weak-willed excuse for a father. And no, it’s not public knowledge; at least not yet. Mother told me. Apparently she and Molly Weasley meet for tea every couple of weeks.”

Hermione looked at Draco as though he had suddenly sprouted feathers.

“It’s true,” he protested. “She told me they had struck up a… friendship… after Father was sentenced.” Hermione shook herself.

“I know they did. I’ve joined them myself on several occasions. I just – didn’t expect Molly to talk about it just yet. It’s all very raw still, within the family. Molly’s quite beside herself.”

“So Mother said,” he nodded. “I am sorry, Hermione. I know how hard this must be for you.” Hermione sighed.

“Why does everyone –“ she broke off and looked at Draco, eyes wide. “But… you do know, don’t you? Astoria…”

“Left me. Indeed,” he finished for her. “We were never in love, of course; it was a traditional Pureblood match. She was free to seek… companionship, so long as they were discreet. I was surprised when she left. Hurt. More for Scorpius’ sake than my own; I had a very hard time understanding how a mother could leave her child behind.” Hermione nodded quietly.

“I was shocked by that, myself,” she said. “I assumed you blocked her from taking your son since you were the injured party.” Draco sighed.

“I would have,” he admitted, “if only because I don’t want my son anywhere near Theo Nott.” She nodded her understanding. “But the truth is, she left us both. Nott wanted to travel the world, and she couldn’t bear to be apart from him.”

Hermione reached out and took his hand in hers, as they sat looking out across the city, the buildings gleaming in the setting sun.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispered. He nodded slowly.

“So, you see… I do understand somewhat,” he said.

“I loved him,” Hermione said unnecessarily.

“I know,” he replied. “I never understood it, but that much was obvious.”

“How could he do this to me? To us? To our children?” She was relieved to ask these questions out loud, but didn’t expect him to have an answer.

“I imagine that.. it’s easier to be a lover than a husband,” he said seriously. She looked at him in surprise, and he continued, “With a spouse, a family, there are responsibilities, expectations, work. A lover is fun, excitement, passion… with none of the serious stuff to bog you down.” Hermione looked thoughtful.

“I… hadn’t thought of it in those terms,” she said slowly. Draco nodded.

“It took me a long time to understand it,” he admitted. “But sometimes, a person can’t deal with the pressure. It seems like harmless fun to smile and flirt with someone for a moment or two. And when that high of infatuation sets in… it must be impossible to resist if you’re already at the breaking point.”
Hermione sighed heavily.

“I thought we’d be together forever,” she whispered, more to herself than to Draco. He looked at her with sympathy shining in his grey eyes. She hugged her tear-stained journal to her chest and stared into the middle distance. Draco put his arm around her back, tentatively stroking her hair.

“I know,” he murmured comfortingly. “I know.” They sat in silence for a few moments. “No Malfoy in history had ever gotten divorced. My great-Uncle Septimus and his wife lived on separate continents, once their children were of age. I never even met her, but they were still married, if only in name.”

Hermione stared at him openmouthed.

“I can’t imagine living in a marriage like that,” she said simply. “Did you – expect that would happen with you?” Draco shook his head.

“We got on well enough,” he said quietly. “We tried to be friends and to be respectful in our… dalliances. It’s what was expected.” He sighed. “But ‘Tor… she fell in love. Really, truly in love.”

Hermione closed her eyes. “That must have been difficult. Finding out your wife was in love with another man.”

“It was,” he said, nodding. “Although not the way you might think. I was jealous of her. I… I wanted that, too, and I was jealous of her. In the end, though… she is the mother of my son. She gave me the most precious gift I could ever have asked. I couldn’t deny her the chance to be happy.” He sighed again. “Even if it did hurt Scorpius and I immensely.”

Hermione looked at him, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. She raised a hand to touch his cheek gently.

“I hope someday I can look at things the way you do,” she said softly. “Right now, everything just hurts too much.” Draco wrapped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her gently.

“I know. You’ll get through it, though.” His tone brooked no refusals.

“I hope so,” she replied shakily. He shook her gently by the shoulders.

“You will. You’ll cry, and hurt, and rant and rave, but you have lots of friends and family who love you and after a while, it won’t hurt as much,” he told her. He reached down and plucked a shriveled leaf from the ground at their feet. Shielding his actions with their bodies, he whispered a wandless charm and Transfigured the dead leaf into a beautiful, deep red rosebud. As Hermione watched, the rosebud grew into full bloom, dropped its petals delicately into her lap and then budded anew, repeating the process over as she watched, enchanted.

“Thank you, Draco. It’s amazing,” she breathed, watching it in wonder. He smiled at her.

“When you’re feeling low, just watch the flower’s cycle and remember that you, too, will be ready to bloom again someday,” he said softly. Her warm chocolate gaze met his silvery one, and she smiled wanly. “I’m here if you want to talk about it some more,” he promised. “All you have to do is call.”

For the first time in months, she felt a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Deep inside, her cracked and broken heart began its healing journey.