Spring Fic Request for Xylitol01
Spring Fic Request for Xylitol01
Title: Plus ça change, Plus c'est la Meme Chose (The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same)
Author: kireina kanjou
Rating: PG-13 - for cussing
Author's Note: Special, special thanks to my two 'sekrit' betas. You guys are 'teh awesome'.
Summary: In a new era, change has begun. How do stragglers cope?
"Oh lookit here, we have the two-thirds of the 'Trio Who Saved the World'. What brings you out of your gilded lives to bestow upon us your presence?" Malfoy smirked. Malfoy smirking was not new; however, Hermione could not help but notice that his insult lacked the same ferocity five years ago.
"Shove off, Malfoy. People like you aren't wanted." Ron retorted with an extra flair of snobbiness in his tone. There was a silent pause as Draco's eyebrows came together in a v-shape and he squinted his eyes. His immediate displeasure was noted.
"Granger, I suggest that you take your pet weasel and get out of my line of sight," he spat out.
Hermione, seeing that Ron was pushing up his sleeve, grabbed his now exposed arm and led him away from Draco and the busy street with crowds of people. When Hermione and Ron were a considerable distance from the confrontation, Ron detached his arm away from Hermione's grip and began his ranting.
"Malfoy's still such a coward. Can't even come up new insults or come-backs. You were right Hermione: he got what was coming to him." To emphasize his assuredness that Malfoy received his just desserts, Ron rested his arm around Hermione's shoulder. "The rest of the world shuns him. Until he changes, there's no hope for him."
It was that moment when something occurred to Hermione. Ron didn't have that temper he once had before the war. When Harry died from the war, Ron had changed. And to Hermione's complete and utter surprise, Ron's change was seemingly easy.
Once the war was over, Ron had a new outlook. No one could put a finger as to why he changed, but he began rambling on about change, how the change began within and how change would begin with him.
Hermione felt that she should be happy for him, but all she could focus on was Ron's sudden interest in the revolution bandwagon. Aside from Harry, Ron was always reluctant for change. He chose not to have a hand in anything traditional. He barely helped Hermione with the S.P.E.W. project back in fourth year.
"Thanks to you, Hermione, all of your nagging from school finally paid off, didn't it?" said Ron, squeezing his arm around Hermione's shoulder a little tighter. Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and concentrated on Ron, who continued to babble on.
"We've really made a difference. The kids at Hogwarts intermingle now."
Hermione frowned at Ron's statement; however, she couldn't disprove him, so she kept her mouth shut.
Ron and Hermione shared a pleasant dinner until Ron asked her about work. Work to Hermione was boring. After the war, there was a surplus of aurors and they were offering voluntary transfer packages. Hermione,
always selfless, volunteered and found herself placed in the Ministry in document control. The war had produced tons of paperwork that needed completing and the Ministry was ecstatic to offer Hermione a desk job that involved lots of organizing.
"Work's fine. Nothing new," Hermione carefully replied. Anything more would have caused pitying concern for five minutes. Anything less positive would have changed nothing.
Ron managed to slip in a "that's all?" between stuffing his face, so Hermione gave a polite smile and changed the subject to Ron's job.
Ron also worked at the Ministry, and just like Hermione accepted the department transfer. He now worked in the Wizard-Muggle Relations department, much to his father's glee. Perhaps it was then that Ron started pushing aggressively for stronger Wizard-Muggle (and Muggle-born) interaction.
"Yeah, we're still working on implementing mandatory Muggle Studies in the Hogwarts curriculum. Dumbledore likes the idea, but I'm having trouble convincing the board. Merlin, the prejudiced sodding lot of them!" Ron cursed.
Hermione could recite the whole spiel Ron was about to embark on, only because he said the same damn thing everytime he discussed his job with Hermione.
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After another ordinary day at work, Hermione packed up her belongings in her leather satchel and walked home. She stopped apparating home about a half a year after the war, when it beca me unfashionable. Not that Hermione was a trend-chaser, but everyone was very much into brooms with branches sticking out that could seat a family and came with lightweight fiberglass heads shields that resembled windshields. Wizards and witches alike were carrying portable Floo communicators, PFC's as they were fashionably called, as cellular phone wannabes. They were compact-sized fireplaces that were connected to the Floo Network through various homing charms. Ingenious, really, Hermione thought sarcastically to herself as she was walking.
Hermione zigzagged through the crowds, simultaneously cursing those using their PFC's and holding up pedestrian traffic, then she stopped at Grand Naomi Hotel. The Japanese Wizarding community has been expanding globally at mind-blowing rates. They're geniuses when it comes to technology. Hermione reminded herself to "thank" the Japanese for inventing PFC's.
She glided through the double doors and acknowledged the doorman. The hotel decor was understated in that new modern-wizard look. Everything was sleek and utilitarian.
Leave it to the Japanese to compact everything, Hermione thought derisively. She found the hotel bar by the elevators and settled in. The bartender looked at her for an order, but Hermione simply asked for a glass of water with lemon.
Half way done with her glass of water, her company arrived. He still wore the traditional robes of black, tailored suit pants and a mandarin collared shirt with a matching vest. Hermione giggled to herself; Draco Malfoy could have passed for a priest.
"Granger," he greeted her coolly. Hermione returned the greeting and motioned for him to join her at the bar. He looked around the place distastefully.
"Why in the seven rings of Hell did you select this place for meeting, Granger?” It's so Muggle-looking." He scrunched up his nose for good measure. He looked to the bartender and ordered Firewhiskey Black Label on rocks. The bartender raised his eyebrows at Malfoy's drink of choice.
"It's on the way from the Ministry to my flat, Malfoy. Plus it's quiet enough for us to have a conversation. That is why you asked to see me, right?" said Hermione as she took another sip of her water.
"Right. Conversation. When we last bumped into each other, Granger, we didn't get the opportunity to chat. You know, catch up on old times."
"Exactly, no opportunity for a sit down chat," Hermione deadpanned. "Well we're here now; let's not waste time." She paused. "What do you do now, Draco?" That wasn't awkward.
"Tend to lawyers."
"Interning?"
"No, and you mean apprenticing, by the way. You know, when my father died and all,”began Malfoy, with his breath hitching a bit. “We had the inheritance and property to settle. Then there was the issue of paying fines for all the Dark Arts memorabilia we collected," explained Malfoy matter-of-factly.
He asked, "What about you, Granger?"
"I do document control at the Ministry" replied Hermione dryly. She eyed his whiskey and wondered if she should order a shot of it for herself.
"Sounds like fun," said Draco, "sounds like you, in fact. But why don't you work with Weasel then? I hear he's implementing great change for our world and the other one." There was bit of sneer in the last part of his sentence, but Hermione's impatience conquered her good manners and cut to the chase.
"Why did you call me out, Malfoy? We hardly had a conversation back at Hogwarts and I didn't see you at all during the war and even after the war, I hardly saw you. What's going on?"
"Nothing Granger, just wanted to say 'hello' to a familiar face and bring back some sort of sick sense of normalcy to my life." said Draco, unaffected by Hermione's slight frustration.
Hermione tried to make sense of Draco's statement. Normalcy seemed like a foreign concept with her. The new mantra for the era was Change for the better! Draco's statement left an aftertaste in her mouth.
"You look displeased, Granger. Pray tell! Is there something wrong with the Golden Girl?" Draco drawled out sarcastically. Hermione knitted her eyebrows together.
"Nothing's wrong, Draco. I'm fine. Everything's great." Hermione wished she sounded more convincing. She tried the same tactic on Draco as she did with Ron whenever Ron wanted to talk about work. "Back to you Malfoy, do you do anything besides tend to lawyers?"
"Nope."
"Wow. That's exciting, Malfoy. Do you at least swim in your money? Surely that'd make you feel better."
At that moment, Draco pulled out his money clip and threw a large bill (new wizarding times called for a rehaul of the old money system) to the bartender.
He nodded at Hermione to follow him out of the bar. Confused and curious, Hermione trotted right behind him.
She followed him silently as he led her to the hotel floo system and pushed her into the flames after he muttered, "Malfoy Maner, Devonshire." When Hermione tumbled out she found herself in a lavishly decorated study room, complete with books and a mahogany desk with quills and ink pots lined up neatly.
Draco came crashing in later, careful not to ruin the carpet. He immediately bee-lined to his liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of Firewhiskey Black Label on rocks.
"Do use a coaster, Granger," he said and tossed one at her.
"Thanks," she said ungraciously. "Why are we here, Malfoy? What's wrong with the bar?"
"Like I said, it was too Muggle for my tastes." The snobiness in Draco's voice was loud and clear.
"What's wrong Malfoy? Can't stand the Muggle-borns running loose?" Hermione added in mocking hands to try to irk Draco.
However, he seemed unphased. He deadpanned, "don't forget the Muggles too."
"God, it's so like you to say that. You haven't changed your tune over the past ten years!" Hermione cattily threw back, complete with her snobby face.
"You too."
Hermione inflamed, puffed out her chest, put her hands on her hips, akimbo and challenged Draco, "What makes you better than me?"
"Granger, I’m disappointed that you haven’t figured it out yet,” teased Malfoy. “It has nothing to do with that. Besides, that’s long over and done with.”
Malfoy, sensing Hermione was not at ease, took advantage of the situation and circled her like predator to prey. He continued, “Think about it. When one event changes the lives of millions of people, how effective is that change? Of course, initially change, revolution, speeds on at full thrust, but what parts of the revolution are actually kept when it all goes to Hell?”
“Malfoy, I don’t understand what you’re saying...” trailed off Hermione.
“Don’t you feel like,” Malfoy suggested, “everything’s changed for the worst? That what you once knew is gone or mangled beyond all recognition?”
"Of course not!” Hermione blurted without thinking. “The war is over, and the world knows that Voldemort and the Death Eaters are gone. What the hell is your problem?" shouted Hermione angrily. "The world, the people aren't the same anymore, Malfoy: we’re moving on."
"So I've noticed."
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Hermione arrived home mentally exhausted after her strange conversation with Malfoy. He was courteous enough to allow her to use his Floo Network, although she tried to insist that she rather walk home.
She tumbled through her own fireplace and ended up covered in grime. The lack of use was clear and Hermione coughed at the sudden uprise of dust.
Hermione carefully mulled over the conversation with Malfoy. However, she ended up irritating herself re-thinking the crazy dribble he spat to her. Things today were better. Everyone was happy and embracing change.
Crookshanks, delighted at the possibility of being fed, cooed and cuddled with his mistress. She left her thoughts of Malfoy immediately when she cut herself on the sharp, jagged edge of his cat food tin.
"Bugger! Oooh. Ow. Finire!" Crookshanks took cover under the table whenever his mistress swore.
"Stupid can opener."
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Every Saturday Hermione stopped by her parents' home to check up on them. Old age had certainly taking its toll on her mummy and daddy, and Hermione felt that her time had come to be a dutiful daughter. Their Saturdays together were usually spent at the marketplace or the department stores.
Hermione and her mum walked arm-in-arm through Harold’s looking for a new suit tie for her dad. They stopped by the fragrance counter, giggling at the new Burberry scent that was much too strong to wear everyday. On the way to the men's department, Hermione backed into another lady and immediately apologized.
"Granger?"
Hermione whipped around to see the voice calling her. Much to her surprise, she found herself face to face with Pansy Parkinson. Parkinson, who also “mysteriously” disappeared during the war, was wearing Muggle low-rise denim and some layered t-shirts.
"Granger, it's nice to see you here!" Pansy enthusiastically hugged Hermione as if they had been friends since first year. "Oh! You would know where the shoe department is then! I'm looking for these lovely Muggle-styled shoes, with a high heel and pointy toe. Don't you think they were much better than our Mary Janes at school?"
Hermione, at one point, stopped registering Pansy's conversation. She should be used to this, really, but everytime she recognized a Wizard, a non-Muggle-born one, at a Muggle place, Hermione sensed something was wrong and she ended up in the twilight zone.
Back to reality, her mum stepped in and directed Pansy to the shoe department. After Pansy scampered off, the Granger Girls got on an escalator upstairs. Her mum noticed her daughter's immediately displeasure immediately; however, she never, ever asked her daughter what the problem was. The argument always came back to "it's a Wizard-Muggle thing."
Her mum knew Hermione well enough to know that she was irritated with the meeting with Parkinson. Hermione, who still harbored a bit of ill feelings left over from Hogwarts, suddenly found a new reason, to hate Parkinson even more. That's so typical of Parkinson to follow a fad. She hasn't changed for sure, Hermione thought mockingly.
Let it be said that Hermione's reasons never were all sound.
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A large tawny owl swooped into Hermione's office and perched herself on her cubicle. Hermione was embarrassed that all her co-workers were staring at the regal owl, since owls were long ago replaced by PFC's, but she was also slightly touched that this someone would use something so traditional. However, that thought turned sour when she realized that the only person who would use an owl to pass messages was Draco Malfoy.
She tried to feed the bird a piece of her stale toast from breakfast at which the bird scoffed and flew away. She sat back down in her cubicle and opened the missive.
"Floo to my study after work, for some supper and drinks afterwards."
Leave it to Malfoy to write commands. God, he's still bossing everyone around, Hermione thought.
With a quick glance to the clock, Hermione cleaned up her desk, packed her belongings and dashed out the door without a regard to her co-workers.
She half-walked, half-jogged to the nearest Floo Networking Station to get herself to Malfoy's place. Her feet were on the verge of running, which bothered Hermione a bit, since excitement to see Malfoy registered on the weird level.
She found the platform with the Floos traveling in Malfoy's direction and braced herself for the tumble-through.
Immediately upon arriving, Malfoy was waiting. He wore similar austere robes similar to the ones from their reunion meeting last week, but the top collar was unbuttoned for a slightly more casual look. His hair was still perfectly trimmed and side-parted.
"Granger,” he said smoothly, "glad you could make it. Now dust yourself off, you look like you’ve never used the Floo."
Hermione got flustered for a moment at her state of unlady-like disarray. After dusting herself off, Malfoy led her to the dining room.
The Malfoys took great care in interior decorating. The curtains poured lush velvets like waterfalls, the Turkish rugs were expertly detailed, cabinets were filled with fine china and the dining table was a dark cherry rectangular that could seat a quidditch team.
"Take a seat, Granger," said Malfoy as he pulled a chair out for Hermione in the most gentleman-like manner.
As soon as Malfoy was seated, house-elves came through the door with appetizers - foie gras - and served them.
"Yes Granger, I still keep house-elves. And no, I'm not one of those neoliberals, who will pay their elves. Mine like working here."
Hermione, who would have initially scowled in disapproval of Malfoy's backward ways, actually relaxed in relief. It was traditional for a wizarding family like the Malfoy’s to keep house-elves. She craved a bit of normalcy.
Their dinner started off very slow and quiet; the initial conversations were forced. Hermione was slightly disturbed that everything was so civil so far, but for the most part, she was comfortable being uncomfortable. It was nostalgia of Head Boy and Girl duties all over again. However, during their course of dessert, Malfoy opened his mouth to start some conversation.
"You're being rather polite, no mention of my house-elves?" Draco casually mentioned, before sipping on his pinot noir.
Hermione quickly chewed her tiramisu cake and swallowed it. "No, Malfoy. I was raised with good manners as well and if you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all." Hermione added in a smirk.
"Surprising." Draco mused.
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Since dinner was done, Malfoy and she retired to the study where they enjoyed Firewhiskey on rocks again. Malfoy sat in his plush, cushy peacock blue velvet chair. Hermione settled for leaning on Draco's study desk.
Hermione's mind began to work overtime. She was reminded of Hogwarts, before the war. When Malfoy would sneer at her and her kind. When Pansy wasn't an expert on Muggle fashion. When Ron didn't become an activist for Wizard-Muggle rights. When there were unsaid standards. But more importantly, that time was when Harry was alive.
Harry's ultimate sacrifice not only brought an end to the Second War, but began a revolution. The revolution involved a complete re-haul of the Ministry. Veterans from both sides helped in what was known as the fastest revolution in any history. However, all the new laws and lifestyle changes gave little room for Hermione to digest the repercussions of the New Wizarding World; everyone else seemed okay with it.
Malfoy was the first to break the silence. He started, "I tried looking you up on those Portable Floo Connector-things, but you weren't listed, so I had to owl you instead. I hope I didn't frighten anyone with Hermes."
"I don't have one, Malfoy."
"Don't have one? I would have thought that you'd jump at the chance to hold something so ubiquitous nowadays. After all, it was inspired by a Muggle invention."
Hermione quickly retorted, "Just because it's a based on a Muggle tool, doesn't mean I'm going to be all over it. Besides, I find them more inconvenient than useful." Hermione took a swig of her Firewhiskey on rocks.
"But Her-my-oh-knee," Draco drawled out, "you were the poster child for integration. Although it seems you passed on that task to Weasley now."
"I wasn't the poster child for that. I only wanted tolerance, Malfoy. And whatever Ron's soapbox is, I have nothing to do with it. He just got caught up with the times, I suppose," she defended herself and Ron.
"Oh? Ms. Granger is no longer the advocate for Wizard-Muggle integration? What on Merlin's green earth happened? Could it be that Harry Potter's death affected your will? Or that the world seemed to move on without you?"
If there were any substitute words for Crucio, Malfoy's last sentence would have been it. All the unresolved feelings she felt for the times bubbled up to surface and she desperately wanted to lash out at Malfoy.
Malfoy saw the moment of hesitation on Hermione’s face. He knew for certain the reason for Hermione's reluctance to embrace what Weasley had recently been whinging about.
"Granger," Malfoy began, "what are you so angry about?"
Hermione shifted in her seat. She really hated being put on the spot. Her mind raced for a flimsy, but acceptable, answer. Could she successfully pull off the same trick she used on Ron?
Hermione didn't know what came over her, but out of the blue she went for honesty.
"I know you've noticed it too, Malfoy. No one uses owls anymore. No one ever orders Firewhiskey. Flying brooms aren't even bloody brooms anymore!" Hermione's voice took on a harder tone and her hand motions were more frantic. "I know I spent our years at Hogwarts harping on about equality and all, but this is ridiculous, Malfoy. I just want..." Hermione thought carefully about her next words. "I just want things to go back to the way they were. When being a Wizard meant that you were special!"
"I always thought you were an angry person, Granger." Hermione stood up ready to go again, but Malfoy cut in, "Perhaps, your anger isn't trivial this time." He sipped his alcohol before speaking again. "I think for once we're on the same wavelength."
Malfoy stood up and took two long strides towards her. Towering over her in his polished, Italian made robes, centimeters away from Hermione, he placed his untanned hands on her hips and pressed his lips against hers chastely.
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"Hermione, they rejected the bill again. The whole fucking lot of bastards!" Ron slammed his mug of ale in anger. The ale spilt over onto Ron's hands. "Shit! Merlin, they make me so fucking angry."
Hermione sacrificed her napkin to clean up Ron's mess, since he was still too busy blurting out obscenities about the Hogwarts’ Parent-Teacher Association board.
Whenever the Hogwarts’ PTA shot down Ron's mandatory Muggle Studies proposition, Ron would pub crawl and get himself pissed. Hermione, being the responsible one, would follow Ron, pub to pub, making sure he didn't choke on his own vomit.
Out of annoyance that her Thursday night was ruined, she said exasperated, "Ron, why don't you give up?"
"Give up? Hermione, what are you saying? I'm surprised that you're not more involved with this. Say, join me. Help me out here." For a drunken man, Ron was quite articulate.
"Then who'd take care of your drunken bum?" Making light of the situation and diverting it were the best options Hermione had to deal with Ron's pleading.
"Seriously Hermione, why aren't you concerned? I thought that you'd be first in line to give the students more work."
"It's not that Ron, you know I'm all for learning..."
"Then what the hell is it, Hermione? Since Harry left us, you've been nothing but unsupportive of my... my work!"
The shouting made Hermione flinch, but the truth added on 50 pound barbells to her guilt. She had underestimated her best friend, hoping he wouldn't notice her non-enthusiasm towards Wizard-Muggle interrelations.
"Well, Hermione? Answer me!"
"Ron, I... I just don't know what to do anymore! This world, it isn't ours anymore! It's not the same anymore!" she confessed.
"Of course it's not the same; surely you didn't expect that after Harry sacrificed his life things would return to normal! A revolution was bound to happen!"
Never in all of Hermione's twenty-three years of life had Ronald Bilius Weasley lectured her on post-war eras. He had said many hurtful things in their eleven years of friendship and now Hermione had never been so embarrassed and angry.
"Ron, SHUT UP!" Hermione bellowed. "It's not that easy to change so damn quickly! I spent seven years adjusting to wizarding life and then after the war, I have to spend time again adjusting to this bullshit new hybrid life? No Ronald, I won't. This new existence is corrupting everything special about Wizards and Witches!" The thumps of Hermione's fists on the table marked the end of her point.
There had only been a few times in Hermione's life where she got extremely angry - angry enough to want to resort to violence. Most of the occurrences happened during the Battle of Hogwarts, and there was the infamous slap she administered to Malfoy when she was thirteen. In this instance, she was ready to have an encore performance, only with Ron instead of Malfoy.
Beating Hermione to the punch, Ron slowly stood up, and then spat out, "Is that why you're so angry? That you're not special anymore? That you can’t make a difference in either worlds now?!"
Hermione's hand shot out like a Seeker's to catch the snitch and slapped Ron's right cheek. Her eyes were overflowing with the tears that had begun to drip down her cheeks. Her awkward conversations with Malfoy, her detest for the new products on the market, her disdain for the new life, all rushed to her mind and her speech.
"Ron, doesn't being a Wizard mean anything to you?"
"Of course it does, but I owe it to myself, my dad, Harry, and above all you to be part of this new revolution. Hermione, I want to be part of this revolution, I really do. I really love the way our world isn't so backwards anymore." Ron was amazingly soft in his voice despite Hermione's screaming.
"Oi, you two, get a room and take yer argument there. We be wantin' no talk of politics 'ere," cut in the tattooed bartender.
Hermione grabbed her handbag and bolted out of the pub. Ron, holding his right cheek, yelled after her.
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Hermione actually ran all the way to the Floo Networking Station. The warm spring weather made her forehead and nose bead with sweat.
While she was looking for the platform, she recounted the argument she had with Ron. Back in school, this would have been normal for her, but that was when she was so certain of herself. She could clearly articulate her points and put down Ron in a flash. But up until now, she couldn't quite figure out why everything bothered her so much. But after the kiss from Malfoy, she couldn't stop thinking about why she was so frustrated and angry with everything. Strangely enough she owed it to Malfoy for pointing it out to her.
She found the platform that she took last time to get to Malfoy's. She paid her fee and jumped in.
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Malfoy was sitting in his study, reading the Daily Prophet by his wand's light. He was in a dressing robe and enjoying some Firewhiskey before heading to bed. He started counting out loud, "one, two, three, four and five." And on beat, Hermione tumbled out of his fireplace. Malfoy half-smiled and half smirked; he knew that Hermione would be returning.
"Malfoy," she panted out, "I'm sorry for intruding, but I get it. I get it now."
"Oh?" said Malfoy curiously, obviously playing along. "Do tell Hermione, what do you get?"
Hermione, catching her breath, answered Malfoy, "I get why you still keep house-elves, still wear wizarding robes and still drink Firewhiskey. While everyone else is busy being a Muggle, you're still the way you were, because it’s what's left of what you know."
Hermione took a deep breath and stepped close enough to Malfoy, sitting at his desk, to place her hands atop the magnificently polished wood desk. "I also know why you disappeared from the war."
Malfoy sat up straighter, clearly uncomfortable with the turn of this conversation.
"It wasn't a matter of Dumbledore and Harry versus Voldemort and the Death Eaters. It was more about what would be left for you when you came back. So you retreated to your mansion and lived how you thought it should be. In short, you didn't change."
Malfoy stood up and walked around to talk eye-to-eye with Hermione. "But Hermione, don't you think I've changed a bit?"
Hermione's eyes widened and she tilted her head to the side as a signal for him to continue.
"It's not about pure or dirty blood anymore. It's about who shares my point of view. And you, Hermione, do."
She dropped her head in affirmation. It was the conclusion that crossed her mind and knotted her stomach. She didn't think it was too far from the truth.
Malfoy pulled her face up, so he could lock his lips with hers. He inhaled her scent - lightly smoky from the pub and floral, her perfume. His hands gingerly rested on her hips to keep her steady. Her arms, originally resting on his shoulders for balance, wound behind Malfoy's neck.
Hermione never imagined finding comfort in Malfoy, let alone common ground. However, tonight she and Malfoy both were forthcoming with their so-called problems. It was peace of mind to find someone who didn't think she was being backward. Malfoy understood her want of having something familiar to return to.
Hermione pulled away from Malfoy's mouth and rested her heels on the ground. Her hands ran down the slopes of Malfoy's shoulders to his hands and when they found each other, she held on to them.
"Draco," she said, unsure of his reaction to the usage of his first name, "we can't change anything, but I want to..."
Draco finished for her, "Let's start our own revolution."
xxxx The end.
Author Notes: I realized that my intrepretation of xylitol's request might have been different from what most people might initially think of. I can only hope that the requester isn't too disappointed with my approach. Instead I'll thank a few inspirations: Masks by Fumiko Enchi, Koroko by Natsume Soseki and Zankokuna Seishun (Cruel Youth) (film).
Fic Request: For xylitol
Rating(s) of the fic you want: PG13 - NC-17
One tone/mood you want your gift to include: Angry mood.
One element/theme/item you want your gift to include: War themes. You know, pain, blood, suffering, human nature at its best and worst.
One common cliche, plot device or stereotype you don't your gift to include: You know, the kind where Hermione MAGICALLY becomes perfect with SMOOTH, STRAIGHT, BEAUTIFUL HAIR and 36DD boobs. And a perfect personality where she can do no wrong. Let her keep her flaws, please.
Thank you for your participating in the Spring Forward Exchange!
Title: Plus ça change, Plus c'est la Meme Chose (The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same)
Author: kireina kanjou
Rating: PG-13 - for cussing
Author's Note: Special, special thanks to my two 'sekrit' betas. You guys are 'teh awesome'.
Summary: In a new era, change has begun. How do stragglers cope?
"Oh lookit here, we have the two-thirds of the 'Trio Who Saved the World'. What brings you out of your gilded lives to bestow upon us your presence?" Malfoy smirked. Malfoy smirking was not new; however, Hermione could not help but notice that his insult lacked the same ferocity five years ago.
"Shove off, Malfoy. People like you aren't wanted." Ron retorted with an extra flair of snobbiness in his tone. There was a silent pause as Draco's eyebrows came together in a v-shape and he squinted his eyes. His immediate displeasure was noted.
"Granger, I suggest that you take your pet weasel and get out of my line of sight," he spat out.
Hermione, seeing that Ron was pushing up his sleeve, grabbed his now exposed arm and led him away from Draco and the busy street with crowds of people. When Hermione and Ron were a considerable distance from the confrontation, Ron detached his arm away from Hermione's grip and began his ranting.
"Malfoy's still such a coward. Can't even come up new insults or come-backs. You were right Hermione: he got what was coming to him." To emphasize his assuredness that Malfoy received his just desserts, Ron rested his arm around Hermione's shoulder. "The rest of the world shuns him. Until he changes, there's no hope for him."
It was that moment when something occurred to Hermione. Ron didn't have that temper he once had before the war. When Harry died from the war, Ron had changed. And to Hermione's complete and utter surprise, Ron's change was seemingly easy.
Once the war was over, Ron had a new outlook. No one could put a finger as to why he changed, but he began rambling on about change, how the change began within and how change would begin with him.
Hermione felt that she should be happy for him, but all she could focus on was Ron's sudden interest in the revolution bandwagon. Aside from Harry, Ron was always reluctant for change. He chose not to have a hand in anything traditional. He barely helped Hermione with the S.P.E.W. project back in fourth year.
"Thanks to you, Hermione, all of your nagging from school finally paid off, didn't it?" said Ron, squeezing his arm around Hermione's shoulder a little tighter. Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and concentrated on Ron, who continued to babble on.
"We've really made a difference. The kids at Hogwarts intermingle now."
Hermione frowned at Ron's statement; however, she couldn't disprove him, so she kept her mouth shut.
Ron and Hermione shared a pleasant dinner until Ron asked her about work. Work to Hermione was boring. After the war, there was a surplus of aurors and they were offering voluntary transfer packages. Hermione,
always selfless, volunteered and found herself placed in the Ministry in document control. The war had produced tons of paperwork that needed completing and the Ministry was ecstatic to offer Hermione a desk job that involved lots of organizing.
"Work's fine. Nothing new," Hermione carefully replied. Anything more would have caused pitying concern for five minutes. Anything less positive would have changed nothing.
Ron managed to slip in a "that's all?" between stuffing his face, so Hermione gave a polite smile and changed the subject to Ron's job.
Ron also worked at the Ministry, and just like Hermione accepted the department transfer. He now worked in the Wizard-Muggle Relations department, much to his father's glee. Perhaps it was then that Ron started pushing aggressively for stronger Wizard-Muggle (and Muggle-born) interaction.
"Yeah, we're still working on implementing mandatory Muggle Studies in the Hogwarts curriculum. Dumbledore likes the idea, but I'm having trouble convincing the board. Merlin, the prejudiced sodding lot of them!" Ron cursed.
Hermione could recite the whole spiel Ron was about to embark on, only because he said the same damn thing everytime he discussed his job with Hermione.
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After another ordinary day at work, Hermione packed up her belongings in her leather satchel and walked home. She stopped apparating home about a half a year after the war, when it beca me unfashionable. Not that Hermione was a trend-chaser, but everyone was very much into brooms with branches sticking out that could seat a family and came with lightweight fiberglass heads shields that resembled windshields. Wizards and witches alike were carrying portable Floo communicators, PFC's as they were fashionably called, as cellular phone wannabes. They were compact-sized fireplaces that were connected to the Floo Network through various homing charms. Ingenious, really, Hermione thought sarcastically to herself as she was walking.
Hermione zigzagged through the crowds, simultaneously cursing those using their PFC's and holding up pedestrian traffic, then she stopped at Grand Naomi Hotel. The Japanese Wizarding community has been expanding globally at mind-blowing rates. They're geniuses when it comes to technology. Hermione reminded herself to "thank" the Japanese for inventing PFC's.
She glided through the double doors and acknowledged the doorman. The hotel decor was understated in that new modern-wizard look. Everything was sleek and utilitarian.
Leave it to the Japanese to compact everything, Hermione thought derisively. She found the hotel bar by the elevators and settled in. The bartender looked at her for an order, but Hermione simply asked for a glass of water with lemon.
Half way done with her glass of water, her company arrived. He still wore the traditional robes of black, tailored suit pants and a mandarin collared shirt with a matching vest. Hermione giggled to herself; Draco Malfoy could have passed for a priest.
"Granger," he greeted her coolly. Hermione returned the greeting and motioned for him to join her at the bar. He looked around the place distastefully.
"Why in the seven rings of Hell did you select this place for meeting, Granger?” It's so Muggle-looking." He scrunched up his nose for good measure. He looked to the bartender and ordered Firewhiskey Black Label on rocks. The bartender raised his eyebrows at Malfoy's drink of choice.
"It's on the way from the Ministry to my flat, Malfoy. Plus it's quiet enough for us to have a conversation. That is why you asked to see me, right?" said Hermione as she took another sip of her water.
"Right. Conversation. When we last bumped into each other, Granger, we didn't get the opportunity to chat. You know, catch up on old times."
"Exactly, no opportunity for a sit down chat," Hermione deadpanned. "Well we're here now; let's not waste time." She paused. "What do you do now, Draco?" That wasn't awkward.
"Tend to lawyers."
"Interning?"
"No, and you mean apprenticing, by the way. You know, when my father died and all,”began Malfoy, with his breath hitching a bit. “We had the inheritance and property to settle. Then there was the issue of paying fines for all the Dark Arts memorabilia we collected," explained Malfoy matter-of-factly.
He asked, "What about you, Granger?"
"I do document control at the Ministry" replied Hermione dryly. She eyed his whiskey and wondered if she should order a shot of it for herself.
"Sounds like fun," said Draco, "sounds like you, in fact. But why don't you work with Weasel then? I hear he's implementing great change for our world and the other one." There was bit of sneer in the last part of his sentence, but Hermione's impatience conquered her good manners and cut to the chase.
"Why did you call me out, Malfoy? We hardly had a conversation back at Hogwarts and I didn't see you at all during the war and even after the war, I hardly saw you. What's going on?"
"Nothing Granger, just wanted to say 'hello' to a familiar face and bring back some sort of sick sense of normalcy to my life." said Draco, unaffected by Hermione's slight frustration.
Hermione tried to make sense of Draco's statement. Normalcy seemed like a foreign concept with her. The new mantra for the era was Change for the better! Draco's statement left an aftertaste in her mouth.
"You look displeased, Granger. Pray tell! Is there something wrong with the Golden Girl?" Draco drawled out sarcastically. Hermione knitted her eyebrows together.
"Nothing's wrong, Draco. I'm fine. Everything's great." Hermione wished she sounded more convincing. She tried the same tactic on Draco as she did with Ron whenever Ron wanted to talk about work. "Back to you Malfoy, do you do anything besides tend to lawyers?"
"Nope."
"Wow. That's exciting, Malfoy. Do you at least swim in your money? Surely that'd make you feel better."
At that moment, Draco pulled out his money clip and threw a large bill (new wizarding times called for a rehaul of the old money system) to the bartender.
He nodded at Hermione to follow him out of the bar. Confused and curious, Hermione trotted right behind him.
She followed him silently as he led her to the hotel floo system and pushed her into the flames after he muttered, "Malfoy Maner, Devonshire." When Hermione tumbled out she found herself in a lavishly decorated study room, complete with books and a mahogany desk with quills and ink pots lined up neatly.
Draco came crashing in later, careful not to ruin the carpet. He immediately bee-lined to his liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of Firewhiskey Black Label on rocks.
"Do use a coaster, Granger," he said and tossed one at her.
"Thanks," she said ungraciously. "Why are we here, Malfoy? What's wrong with the bar?"
"Like I said, it was too Muggle for my tastes." The snobiness in Draco's voice was loud and clear.
"What's wrong Malfoy? Can't stand the Muggle-borns running loose?" Hermione added in mocking hands to try to irk Draco.
However, he seemed unphased. He deadpanned, "don't forget the Muggles too."
"God, it's so like you to say that. You haven't changed your tune over the past ten years!" Hermione cattily threw back, complete with her snobby face.
"You too."
Hermione inflamed, puffed out her chest, put her hands on her hips, akimbo and challenged Draco, "What makes you better than me?"
"Granger, I’m disappointed that you haven’t figured it out yet,” teased Malfoy. “It has nothing to do with that. Besides, that’s long over and done with.”
Malfoy, sensing Hermione was not at ease, took advantage of the situation and circled her like predator to prey. He continued, “Think about it. When one event changes the lives of millions of people, how effective is that change? Of course, initially change, revolution, speeds on at full thrust, but what parts of the revolution are actually kept when it all goes to Hell?”
“Malfoy, I don’t understand what you’re saying...” trailed off Hermione.
“Don’t you feel like,” Malfoy suggested, “everything’s changed for the worst? That what you once knew is gone or mangled beyond all recognition?”
"Of course not!” Hermione blurted without thinking. “The war is over, and the world knows that Voldemort and the Death Eaters are gone. What the hell is your problem?" shouted Hermione angrily. "The world, the people aren't the same anymore, Malfoy: we’re moving on."
"So I've noticed."
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Hermione arrived home mentally exhausted after her strange conversation with Malfoy. He was courteous enough to allow her to use his Floo Network, although she tried to insist that she rather walk home.
She tumbled through her own fireplace and ended up covered in grime. The lack of use was clear and Hermione coughed at the sudden uprise of dust.
Hermione carefully mulled over the conversation with Malfoy. However, she ended up irritating herself re-thinking the crazy dribble he spat to her. Things today were better. Everyone was happy and embracing change.
Crookshanks, delighted at the possibility of being fed, cooed and cuddled with his mistress. She left her thoughts of Malfoy immediately when she cut herself on the sharp, jagged edge of his cat food tin.
"Bugger! Oooh. Ow. Finire!" Crookshanks took cover under the table whenever his mistress swore.
"Stupid can opener."
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Every Saturday Hermione stopped by her parents' home to check up on them. Old age had certainly taking its toll on her mummy and daddy, and Hermione felt that her time had come to be a dutiful daughter. Their Saturdays together were usually spent at the marketplace or the department stores.
Hermione and her mum walked arm-in-arm through Harold’s looking for a new suit tie for her dad. They stopped by the fragrance counter, giggling at the new Burberry scent that was much too strong to wear everyday. On the way to the men's department, Hermione backed into another lady and immediately apologized.
"Granger?"
Hermione whipped around to see the voice calling her. Much to her surprise, she found herself face to face with Pansy Parkinson. Parkinson, who also “mysteriously” disappeared during the war, was wearing Muggle low-rise denim and some layered t-shirts.
"Granger, it's nice to see you here!" Pansy enthusiastically hugged Hermione as if they had been friends since first year. "Oh! You would know where the shoe department is then! I'm looking for these lovely Muggle-styled shoes, with a high heel and pointy toe. Don't you think they were much better than our Mary Janes at school?"
Hermione, at one point, stopped registering Pansy's conversation. She should be used to this, really, but everytime she recognized a Wizard, a non-Muggle-born one, at a Muggle place, Hermione sensed something was wrong and she ended up in the twilight zone.
Back to reality, her mum stepped in and directed Pansy to the shoe department. After Pansy scampered off, the Granger Girls got on an escalator upstairs. Her mum noticed her daughter's immediately displeasure immediately; however, she never, ever asked her daughter what the problem was. The argument always came back to "it's a Wizard-Muggle thing."
Her mum knew Hermione well enough to know that she was irritated with the meeting with Parkinson. Hermione, who still harbored a bit of ill feelings left over from Hogwarts, suddenly found a new reason, to hate Parkinson even more. That's so typical of Parkinson to follow a fad. She hasn't changed for sure, Hermione thought mockingly.
Let it be said that Hermione's reasons never were all sound.
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A large tawny owl swooped into Hermione's office and perched herself on her cubicle. Hermione was embarrassed that all her co-workers were staring at the regal owl, since owls were long ago replaced by PFC's, but she was also slightly touched that this someone would use something so traditional. However, that thought turned sour when she realized that the only person who would use an owl to pass messages was Draco Malfoy.
She tried to feed the bird a piece of her stale toast from breakfast at which the bird scoffed and flew away. She sat back down in her cubicle and opened the missive.
"Floo to my study after work, for some supper and drinks afterwards."
Leave it to Malfoy to write commands. God, he's still bossing everyone around, Hermione thought.
With a quick glance to the clock, Hermione cleaned up her desk, packed her belongings and dashed out the door without a regard to her co-workers.
She half-walked, half-jogged to the nearest Floo Networking Station to get herself to Malfoy's place. Her feet were on the verge of running, which bothered Hermione a bit, since excitement to see Malfoy registered on the weird level.
She found the platform with the Floos traveling in Malfoy's direction and braced herself for the tumble-through.
Immediately upon arriving, Malfoy was waiting. He wore similar austere robes similar to the ones from their reunion meeting last week, but the top collar was unbuttoned for a slightly more casual look. His hair was still perfectly trimmed and side-parted.
"Granger,” he said smoothly, "glad you could make it. Now dust yourself off, you look like you’ve never used the Floo."
Hermione got flustered for a moment at her state of unlady-like disarray. After dusting herself off, Malfoy led her to the dining room.
The Malfoys took great care in interior decorating. The curtains poured lush velvets like waterfalls, the Turkish rugs were expertly detailed, cabinets were filled with fine china and the dining table was a dark cherry rectangular that could seat a quidditch team.
"Take a seat, Granger," said Malfoy as he pulled a chair out for Hermione in the most gentleman-like manner.
As soon as Malfoy was seated, house-elves came through the door with appetizers - foie gras - and served them.
"Yes Granger, I still keep house-elves. And no, I'm not one of those neoliberals, who will pay their elves. Mine like working here."
Hermione, who would have initially scowled in disapproval of Malfoy's backward ways, actually relaxed in relief. It was traditional for a wizarding family like the Malfoy’s to keep house-elves. She craved a bit of normalcy.
Their dinner started off very slow and quiet; the initial conversations were forced. Hermione was slightly disturbed that everything was so civil so far, but for the most part, she was comfortable being uncomfortable. It was nostalgia of Head Boy and Girl duties all over again. However, during their course of dessert, Malfoy opened his mouth to start some conversation.
"You're being rather polite, no mention of my house-elves?" Draco casually mentioned, before sipping on his pinot noir.
Hermione quickly chewed her tiramisu cake and swallowed it. "No, Malfoy. I was raised with good manners as well and if you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all." Hermione added in a smirk.
"Surprising." Draco mused.
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Since dinner was done, Malfoy and she retired to the study where they enjoyed Firewhiskey on rocks again. Malfoy sat in his plush, cushy peacock blue velvet chair. Hermione settled for leaning on Draco's study desk.
Hermione's mind began to work overtime. She was reminded of Hogwarts, before the war. When Malfoy would sneer at her and her kind. When Pansy wasn't an expert on Muggle fashion. When Ron didn't become an activist for Wizard-Muggle rights. When there were unsaid standards. But more importantly, that time was when Harry was alive.
Harry's ultimate sacrifice not only brought an end to the Second War, but began a revolution. The revolution involved a complete re-haul of the Ministry. Veterans from both sides helped in what was known as the fastest revolution in any history. However, all the new laws and lifestyle changes gave little room for Hermione to digest the repercussions of the New Wizarding World; everyone else seemed okay with it.
Malfoy was the first to break the silence. He started, "I tried looking you up on those Portable Floo Connector-things, but you weren't listed, so I had to owl you instead. I hope I didn't frighten anyone with Hermes."
"I don't have one, Malfoy."
"Don't have one? I would have thought that you'd jump at the chance to hold something so ubiquitous nowadays. After all, it was inspired by a Muggle invention."
Hermione quickly retorted, "Just because it's a based on a Muggle tool, doesn't mean I'm going to be all over it. Besides, I find them more inconvenient than useful." Hermione took a swig of her Firewhiskey on rocks.
"But Her-my-oh-knee," Draco drawled out, "you were the poster child for integration. Although it seems you passed on that task to Weasley now."
"I wasn't the poster child for that. I only wanted tolerance, Malfoy. And whatever Ron's soapbox is, I have nothing to do with it. He just got caught up with the times, I suppose," she defended herself and Ron.
"Oh? Ms. Granger is no longer the advocate for Wizard-Muggle integration? What on Merlin's green earth happened? Could it be that Harry Potter's death affected your will? Or that the world seemed to move on without you?"
If there were any substitute words for Crucio, Malfoy's last sentence would have been it. All the unresolved feelings she felt for the times bubbled up to surface and she desperately wanted to lash out at Malfoy.
Malfoy saw the moment of hesitation on Hermione’s face. He knew for certain the reason for Hermione's reluctance to embrace what Weasley had recently been whinging about.
"Granger," Malfoy began, "what are you so angry about?"
Hermione shifted in her seat. She really hated being put on the spot. Her mind raced for a flimsy, but acceptable, answer. Could she successfully pull off the same trick she used on Ron?
Hermione didn't know what came over her, but out of the blue she went for honesty.
"I know you've noticed it too, Malfoy. No one uses owls anymore. No one ever orders Firewhiskey. Flying brooms aren't even bloody brooms anymore!" Hermione's voice took on a harder tone and her hand motions were more frantic. "I know I spent our years at Hogwarts harping on about equality and all, but this is ridiculous, Malfoy. I just want..." Hermione thought carefully about her next words. "I just want things to go back to the way they were. When being a Wizard meant that you were special!"
"I always thought you were an angry person, Granger." Hermione stood up ready to go again, but Malfoy cut in, "Perhaps, your anger isn't trivial this time." He sipped his alcohol before speaking again. "I think for once we're on the same wavelength."
Malfoy stood up and took two long strides towards her. Towering over her in his polished, Italian made robes, centimeters away from Hermione, he placed his untanned hands on her hips and pressed his lips against hers chastely.
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"Hermione, they rejected the bill again. The whole fucking lot of bastards!" Ron slammed his mug of ale in anger. The ale spilt over onto Ron's hands. "Shit! Merlin, they make me so fucking angry."
Hermione sacrificed her napkin to clean up Ron's mess, since he was still too busy blurting out obscenities about the Hogwarts’ Parent-Teacher Association board.
Whenever the Hogwarts’ PTA shot down Ron's mandatory Muggle Studies proposition, Ron would pub crawl and get himself pissed. Hermione, being the responsible one, would follow Ron, pub to pub, making sure he didn't choke on his own vomit.
Out of annoyance that her Thursday night was ruined, she said exasperated, "Ron, why don't you give up?"
"Give up? Hermione, what are you saying? I'm surprised that you're not more involved with this. Say, join me. Help me out here." For a drunken man, Ron was quite articulate.
"Then who'd take care of your drunken bum?" Making light of the situation and diverting it were the best options Hermione had to deal with Ron's pleading.
"Seriously Hermione, why aren't you concerned? I thought that you'd be first in line to give the students more work."
"It's not that Ron, you know I'm all for learning..."
"Then what the hell is it, Hermione? Since Harry left us, you've been nothing but unsupportive of my... my work!"
The shouting made Hermione flinch, but the truth added on 50 pound barbells to her guilt. She had underestimated her best friend, hoping he wouldn't notice her non-enthusiasm towards Wizard-Muggle interrelations.
"Well, Hermione? Answer me!"
"Ron, I... I just don't know what to do anymore! This world, it isn't ours anymore! It's not the same anymore!" she confessed.
"Of course it's not the same; surely you didn't expect that after Harry sacrificed his life things would return to normal! A revolution was bound to happen!"
Never in all of Hermione's twenty-three years of life had Ronald Bilius Weasley lectured her on post-war eras. He had said many hurtful things in their eleven years of friendship and now Hermione had never been so embarrassed and angry.
"Ron, SHUT UP!" Hermione bellowed. "It's not that easy to change so damn quickly! I spent seven years adjusting to wizarding life and then after the war, I have to spend time again adjusting to this bullshit new hybrid life? No Ronald, I won't. This new existence is corrupting everything special about Wizards and Witches!" The thumps of Hermione's fists on the table marked the end of her point.
There had only been a few times in Hermione's life where she got extremely angry - angry enough to want to resort to violence. Most of the occurrences happened during the Battle of Hogwarts, and there was the infamous slap she administered to Malfoy when she was thirteen. In this instance, she was ready to have an encore performance, only with Ron instead of Malfoy.
Beating Hermione to the punch, Ron slowly stood up, and then spat out, "Is that why you're so angry? That you're not special anymore? That you can’t make a difference in either worlds now?!"
Hermione's hand shot out like a Seeker's to catch the snitch and slapped Ron's right cheek. Her eyes were overflowing with the tears that had begun to drip down her cheeks. Her awkward conversations with Malfoy, her detest for the new products on the market, her disdain for the new life, all rushed to her mind and her speech.
"Ron, doesn't being a Wizard mean anything to you?"
"Of course it does, but I owe it to myself, my dad, Harry, and above all you to be part of this new revolution. Hermione, I want to be part of this revolution, I really do. I really love the way our world isn't so backwards anymore." Ron was amazingly soft in his voice despite Hermione's screaming.
"Oi, you two, get a room and take yer argument there. We be wantin' no talk of politics 'ere," cut in the tattooed bartender.
Hermione grabbed her handbag and bolted out of the pub. Ron, holding his right cheek, yelled after her.
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Hermione actually ran all the way to the Floo Networking Station. The warm spring weather made her forehead and nose bead with sweat.
While she was looking for the platform, she recounted the argument she had with Ron. Back in school, this would have been normal for her, but that was when she was so certain of herself. She could clearly articulate her points and put down Ron in a flash. But up until now, she couldn't quite figure out why everything bothered her so much. But after the kiss from Malfoy, she couldn't stop thinking about why she was so frustrated and angry with everything. Strangely enough she owed it to Malfoy for pointing it out to her.
She found the platform that she took last time to get to Malfoy's. She paid her fee and jumped in.
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Malfoy was sitting in his study, reading the Daily Prophet by his wand's light. He was in a dressing robe and enjoying some Firewhiskey before heading to bed. He started counting out loud, "one, two, three, four and five." And on beat, Hermione tumbled out of his fireplace. Malfoy half-smiled and half smirked; he knew that Hermione would be returning.
"Malfoy," she panted out, "I'm sorry for intruding, but I get it. I get it now."
"Oh?" said Malfoy curiously, obviously playing along. "Do tell Hermione, what do you get?"
Hermione, catching her breath, answered Malfoy, "I get why you still keep house-elves, still wear wizarding robes and still drink Firewhiskey. While everyone else is busy being a Muggle, you're still the way you were, because it’s what's left of what you know."
Hermione took a deep breath and stepped close enough to Malfoy, sitting at his desk, to place her hands atop the magnificently polished wood desk. "I also know why you disappeared from the war."
Malfoy sat up straighter, clearly uncomfortable with the turn of this conversation.
"It wasn't a matter of Dumbledore and Harry versus Voldemort and the Death Eaters. It was more about what would be left for you when you came back. So you retreated to your mansion and lived how you thought it should be. In short, you didn't change."
Malfoy stood up and walked around to talk eye-to-eye with Hermione. "But Hermione, don't you think I've changed a bit?"
Hermione's eyes widened and she tilted her head to the side as a signal for him to continue.
"It's not about pure or dirty blood anymore. It's about who shares my point of view. And you, Hermione, do."
She dropped her head in affirmation. It was the conclusion that crossed her mind and knotted her stomach. She didn't think it was too far from the truth.
Malfoy pulled her face up, so he could lock his lips with hers. He inhaled her scent - lightly smoky from the pub and floral, her perfume. His hands gingerly rested on her hips to keep her steady. Her arms, originally resting on his shoulders for balance, wound behind Malfoy's neck.
Hermione never imagined finding comfort in Malfoy, let alone common ground. However, tonight she and Malfoy both were forthcoming with their so-called problems. It was peace of mind to find someone who didn't think she was being backward. Malfoy understood her want of having something familiar to return to.
Hermione pulled away from Malfoy's mouth and rested her heels on the ground. Her hands ran down the slopes of Malfoy's shoulders to his hands and when they found each other, she held on to them.
"Draco," she said, unsure of his reaction to the usage of his first name, "we can't change anything, but I want to..."
Draco finished for her, "Let's start our own revolution."
xxxx The end.
Author Notes: I realized that my intrepretation of xylitol's request might have been different from what most people might initially think of. I can only hope that the requester isn't too disappointed with my approach. Instead I'll thank a few inspirations: Masks by Fumiko Enchi, Koroko by Natsume Soseki and Zankokuna Seishun (Cruel Youth) (film).
Fic Request: For xylitol
Rating(s) of the fic you want: PG13 - NC-17
One tone/mood you want your gift to include: Angry mood.
One element/theme/item you want your gift to include: War themes. You know, pain, blood, suffering, human nature at its best and worst.
One common cliche, plot device or stereotype you don't your gift to include: You know, the kind where Hermione MAGICALLY becomes perfect with SMOOTH, STRAIGHT, BEAUTIFUL HAIR and 36DD boobs. And a perfect personality where she can do no wrong. Let her keep her flaws, please.
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