Duet 2 leopion and reetinkerbell

[ningloreth]

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. All fics posted at this community were written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Title: Graceless Hearts
Author:leopion
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 7979
Summary: Consolation can come from the unlikeliest source.
Warnings: Mild expletives
Author's Note(s): My dear duet partner, thank you so much for the inspiring prompts. I loved all three of them, and that’s why I tried to incorporate them all. In the end, I only managed to follow each very loosely: their mission has more to do with Hogwarts than the Ministry; the bad weather does not receive much focus; and the story ends up reflecting more of the general spirit of the song ‘Shake it out’ than the lyrics you chose specifically. Nevertheless, I hope you will still enjoy it.

Millions of thanks to my betas, Sam, Michelle and EP, for putting up with my last minute antics and still doing an amazing job as always; to Ningloreth, for being such a wonderful, understanding mod; to Sammy, for coming to the emergency gchat rescue; and to my RL friends at Symposium, for letting me rant about this fic and giving me their invaluable opinions.





‘What the hell is this?’ asked Draco Malfoy in the most dignified tone one could expect from a soon-to-be fashion disaster.

‘It’s called a suit.’

He threw Granger a disgusted look. Of course, he knew what it was. However, Draco’s more refined definition of an acceptable Muggle suit also specified that it was neither brown nor made of cheap tweed. He could feel the tackiness of the material through the plastic garment bag. Draco instantly regretted taking the thing from Granger, in the middle of the Ministry Atrium no less. The mere thought of wearing such an eyesore was embarrassing, without the added benefit of being ogled at by the multitude of people milling about the Atrium despite it being a Saturday.

Draco had an inexplicable urge to shred the suit just to gauge Granger’s reaction, but he settled for propelling it towards her. ‘I’m not bloody wearing it.’

‘Yes, you are. It’s part of the job.’ Granger crossed her arms and harrumphed, leaving the offensive item to dangle on Draco’s hand. He didn’t go as far as to drop it onto the floor but didn’t want to appear like he held on to it either.

‘It isn’t,’ he replied. ‘I was under the impression that you didn’t care about appearances.’ He gave Granger a once-over before continuing. ‘In fact, I still am, judging by your current attire.’

‘There is nothing wrong with my attire.’

She was right, he had to admit, if only in his head. The belted blazer and knee-length pencil skirt did a fine job of accentuating her curves, without ruining all attempts at imagination. The combination of beige and black made a professional yet friendly impression. No, the only thing wrong with Granger was the light sheen around her eyes, the result of a glamour charm she must have cast on herself. Draco didn’t mention that, though. No one would detect it. No one but him, at any rate. He’d looked at the very same sheen in the mirror too many times not to notice.

‘Nothing wrong with mine, either,’ he said, not caring that his delayed response caused Granger to eye him warily.

‘“Nothing wrong” if you plan to go to a wizarding family. A Muggle would think you’re some sort of wicked wizard-’

‘Which I am,’ said Draco. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, we are to introduce them to a wizarding school. What else do they expect?’

‘We need to convince them that we are professional and trustworthy before even thinking about making them listen.’ She huffed. ‘And don’t try to tell me what we’re here to do, Malfoy. This is my job. You’re just tagging along because the Ministry clearly got it into their heads that you would assist me instead of messing up everything.’

‘You say it as though I’m enjoying this.’

Granger’s face morphed into a scowl. ‘Well, aren’t you?’

‘Right.’ Draco rolled his eyes. ‘Because I take great pleasure in riling you up.’

They wordlessly challenged one another with their gazes before Granger finally sighed. ‘For your information, I clearly don't need your assistance, but if you still want to fulfil your parole, just put this on.’

She shoved the suit back at him to make her point; it was a weary, half-hearted attempt. Her message was clear: she just wanted to get this over with, even if that meant leaving him behind. If Granger thought this would persuade him into submitting, she was wrong. He glared at her then at the brownish monstrosity which he was still keeping at arm’s length, literally. ‘I at least want to go to a Muggle store and pick something for myself. I don't trust your fashion sense.’

‘Then, by all means, continue with your distrust,’ snapped Granger, annoyance seeping back into her voice. ‘Just do what you’re told. We don’t have time to dawdle.’

‘There can’t be that many Muggle-borns starting this year, surely,’ said Draco with a raised eyebrow.

‘You know that we have twice the normal number because of the repeated year.’

Ah, of course, the repeated year. An optional year for any Hogwarts students who wished to replace one year’s worth of the Carrows’ brainwashing with some proper education. Draco himself had been too busy spending his time in Azkaban to attend. From what he heard, Granger hadn’t gone back, either. She’d chosen instead to take her N.E.W.T.s right after the war in order to join in the rebuilding effort.

As things stood, the normal school year would only start in a few weeks, which meant there would be a bunch of twelve-year-olds ‘starting’ at Hogwarts this year in addition to the usual eleven-year-old lot.

He pushed the suit towards Granger again, but she took a step back from it.

‘Should I go down to Law Enforcement and tell them to find you another type of community service, then?’

Her voice rose in both pitch and volume, causing quite a few Ministry workers to stop and stare at the two of them. Draco knew Granger’s threat was an empty one. She wasn’t cruel enough to be the reason for him being sent back to Azkaban. He could not say the same about their audience, however. With this thought, he swallowed his pride and stormed towards the bathrooms to change.

***

Hermione quickened her pace, her heels clicking on the hard pavement with more force than necessary. Thankfully, this street was not overly crowded on weekends. Besides, it wasn’t as if Malfoy would have any trouble keeping up with her.

‘I still can’t believe you did that,’ she hissed. Although yelling would have been more preferable, it wasn’t the wisest thing to do in the middle of Muggle London.

‘You told me to do it,’ said Malfoy from behind her. ‘They were asking for it.’

Hermione stopped in her tracks. Honestly, the nerve of the man!

‘They asked you to demonstrate your magic.’ She whirled around to face him. ‘Not to-’

‘I did precisely that,’ he cut in.

‘You could have levitated something or even transformed the teacup into anything other than a live rat.’

Her outburst attracted strange stares from a few passers-by. Hermione sighed and massaged her temple. She lowered her voice so that only Malfoy could hear. ‘From now on, I’ll take care of all magical demonstrations, and on the off chance that anyone asks you specifically, you will levitate a small, harmless object and no more than five inches up in the air. Are we clear?’

Malfoy snorted. ‘Crystal.’

‘Good,’ said Hermione. At least she could hope that he wouldn’t find a way to twist her words around and do something equally damaging to their mission again.

She was about to resume walking when she heard Malfoy mutter something under his breath.

‘What was that?’

‘I said magic can produce things much worse than a live rat.’

‘And what do you mean by that?’ asked Hermione, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Malfoy glanced at her scornfully. ‘It seems you’ve forgotten what happened a year ago.’

Hermione stiffened at his words, her lips set into a thin line. She wanted to snap at him that of course she hadn’t. That his aunt’s maniacal laugh still haunted her sleep every night. That even though he hadn’t directly caused her pain, he hadn’t done anything to stop it, either. That maybe he himself had committed all of those crimes, just not to her. In the end, she kept those retorts to herself. The argument would become too ugly if she went down that road.

‘Our task is to convince the parents to send their children to Hogwarts,’ she said simply.

‘So, that’s why you lied about it.’

‘I did not lie. I just…’

‘Forgot to mention it? Forgot to tell them that not long ago, there was a war because some psychopath wanted to rid our world of Muggle-borns like their children?’ Malfoy sneered. ‘Really, Granger? You should have been in Slytherin.’

Hermione inhaled deeply. She wished she were angry with Malfoy, truly angry, but she couldn’t. No matter how rude he was, how impenitent, he was telling the truth. The war had been on her mind the entire time. Even when she’d been at home, planning what to say in the meetings, she had debated with herself whether to bring it up. Yet, there just never seemed to be an appropriate time. If only Lauren were one of the twelve-year-old kids, she would have been able to tell the girl’s parents about the war during her explanation for the one-year delay.

Then again, Malfoy had no right to question her. She was in charge, and she, more than anyone else, should know how it felt to be Muggle-born.

‘You seem to have forgotten who you’re talking to, Malfoy.’

Hermione turned to continue to the Apparition point. She had already let this quarrel go on in public more than it should have.

‘I haven’t forgotten.’

She ignored his response. ‘Just be glad that I was able to rectify your mistake at Lauren’s house so she can still go to Hogwarts. And leave it at that.’

She hadn’t expected Malfoy to grab her arm and spin her around. ‘What if she will be more miserable if she goes to Hogwarts?’ His eyes bore into hers, and Hermione resisted the urge to squirm. ‘Just… look at you.’

And that did it. Those last words sent her over the edge. ‘You know what, Malfoy. We’re done for the day.’

She walked away briskly without waiting for Malfoy’s reaction. She wanted to run so that he couldn’t catch up and demand an answer. But perhaps he’d be too ecstatic about getting out of their partnership to really care.

It felt like a long time before Hermione finally reached the deserted alleyway they’d Apparated to earlier. It seemed a good place to Disapparate as well. With a swish of her wand, Hermione was back in her living room.

She nearly tripped on the edge of the carpet on her way to the couch. Having lived here for only the past month, she wasn’t too familiar with its nooks and crannies, yet. Truth be told, she didn’t even need the flat. She could have stayed at Hogwarts during the summer like all the other professors did.

All the same, she had insisted on buying it last year. It was a moderate unit in a quiet part of London, with both the tube and shops nearby. Sure, it couldn’t compare to her childhood home, but at least it was nice and cosy, something her mum would have liked.

When it’d turned out that the place hadn’t been needed, she’d had neither the energy nor motivation to sell it or find a tenant. So, it stayed there, collecting dust, until she’d come home for the summer. The notion had a nice ring to it. The only problem was that this flat didn’t feel like home no matter how hard she tried to make it so.

Hermione collapsed onto the couch, her hand searching blindly for the remote control. She’d been given to watching a lot of mindless television lately. Sure enough, she still found solace in her books most of the times. However, she’d also discovered that it felt comforting to have another human voice in the flat apart from her own, even if she didn’t particularly care what it said.

Today, the telly wasn’t enough to drown out the constant buzz at the back of her mind.

Hermione got up less than an hour later to go over her schedule. She still had two other families to meet that day. She went to each of them, not to talk, but to cast the spells that would make them think the appointments were actually set for a later date. Hermione hated the deed, though it needed to be done. One could have argued that since she had to come to their houses anyway, she might as well have told them about their children’s gift. After all, she hadn’t been lying about not needing Malfoy’s assistance. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to face-to persuade-anyone today. She was finding it hard to persuade even herself.

***

The next morning found Draco at the Ministry Atrium again; Granger’s abrupt departure yesterday had left no possibility of setting up a different meeting place. He couldn’t decide whether to be glad or dismayed that it was Sunday. The collection of people gawking at him had been reduced to the odd Ministry employees who were too assiduous-or too frightened of their boss-to enjoy their day off. However, the lack of a crowd made Draco’s lone figure stick out like a sore thumb.

Granted, he no longer wore the hideous suit Granger provided. He hadn’t gone as far as buying a new one, though. The terms of his probation did not facilitate such luxury. This was the very same black silk suit that his father had worn to the Quidditch World Cup years ago. Draco tried to focus his thought on the fact that it was a decent outfit rather than who it had belonged to, but he failed. Somehow, he wished he’d been wearing the ugly brown suit instead.

Then again, the worst part of the wait was that he didn’t know whether Granger would even show up. He couldn’t exactly blame her. He shouldn't have said those things yesterday. Even though it was an observation, and a correct one at that, he knew it’d cut deeper than all the insults he’d been constantly throwing at her. Not that he wanted to be nice or anything, but sometimes, there were limits. If she hadn’t once mentioned how haggard he looked post-Azkaban, then he should at least pay her the same courtesy. Unfortunately, the words had slipped out from his mouth; he couldn’t very well take them back now.

It had been thirty minutes, and Granger was still nowhere to be seen. By the look of it, she had decided to finish the task on her own then probably write a fake report telling the Ministry that he did all right, end of discussion. He knew she wasn't going to turn him in for not cooperating. Doing so would also mean admitting that she was so truly miserable that only the slightest hint of the truth had set her off.

Just when Draco was prepared to leave, a whooshing sound came from one of the nearby fireplaces, where Granger stepped out a few seconds later. She dusted off the soot in her hair and on her clothes before marching towards him, her expression grave, as though she was preparing for battle. It occurred to him that maybe a little apology wouldn’t be too bad. They could call it a truce and muddle through.

‘Look, Granger, about yesterday...’

He hesitated, just fractionally, but she held her hand up to stop him from continuing.

‘Please, let me speak first.’-The intense look on her face (half-challenging yet half-pleading) left him no choice but to comply.-‘Yesterday, you asked me about the possibility that Lauren would be more miserable going to Hogwarts, and the truth is, I don’t know. However, I do know that whether she enters the wizarding world or not, magic will always be a part of her. And in that way, she will always be an outcast in the Muggle world.’

Draco must have looked like he was about to interrupt, for her next words were, ‘No, Malfoy, let me finish.’ She clasped her hands behind her back in a manner that many people would have thought condescending. But he noticed the tremor. He understood.

‘I’m not going to gloss over the fact that even now, the prejudice still exists among witches and wizards. Nevertheless, here in the wizarding world, there are people who are the same as her whereas in the Muggle world there will never be. She belongs here, Malfoy.’

As she swept her arms to gesture their general surroundings, Granger’s eyes shone with a tenacity he hadn’t seen since that fateful night at the Manor. Never once had she referred to herself, but he knew better. And yes, he could have contradicted her, could have pointed out how cruel their world could be, both with the crimes and the punishments. But he didn’t. At least now he could see, if only a little, from her perspective.

‘You asked about the war... I say yes, we both know how fatal it was, how much sacrifice... ’ Her voice cracked. ‘I hope it will never happen again.’

She closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath while he stood there, transfixed.

‘But, if it does,’ she continued, ‘do you think that she would be safer just by never being in the wizarding world? What about all those Muggles who died in Death Eaters' raids without even the slightest chance of defending themselves?’

Again, he could have voiced counter-arguments. But if there was one thing he’d learnt from the war, it was that there never existed any clearly-defined right or wrong. There was only the grey area in between.

‘You were right about one thing, though. We'll be mentioning the war from now on. There will be no lies, no omission of the truth.’

Draco was surprised by Granger’s last admission. He had anticipated that after arguing that staying in the Muggle world might not help in the war, she’d conclude that to omit it would not do any harm. He scolded himself for underestimating her. After all, this was the best they could do, wasn’t it? To provide all the information and let the Muggles decide for themselves?

'Come on, we should get going,' said Granger, before heading for the Floo. She stepped into the fireplace, explaining that there was a wizards’ pub near their first destination, and called out the name. Draco shrugged himself out of his daze and followed suit.

***

'Thank you,' said Granger once they’d stepped out of the door from their first visit, ‘for supporting me in there.’

'It’s my job. Doesn't necessarily mean I agree with you.'

Granger smiled faintly at that. 'I know.'

They had lunch together afterwards, in the same pub they’d travel through, for convenience’s sake. The meal was spent in silence.

By their fourth and final visit that day, he and Granger had settled into a pattern: she would talk and perform the magical demonstration, he would only open his mouth when it was necessary. He could not claim to be helpful, but he kept himself from making her job more difficult.

This time, however, Granger actually asked him to show some magic in her place. She must have felt that it looked weird to their audience that he just sat there without doing anything. Her request took him by surprise; he recognised the implicit level of trust in it. Draco supposed he should stick to levitation as Granger’d specified before. It wasn't every day that he had the chance, though, so he decided to risk it. At least, if he attempted to be nice about it, she wouldn't be as angry, would she?

He ended up conjuring a miniature rose for the little girl they’d gone to see. Granger was a bit taken aback by it-he could tell from her frown. Yet, she didn’t mention the incident, nor did she reprimand him, before they parted.

The meeting schedule turned out to be a sporadic affair, except for weekends, when everyone was at home. He and Granger went to a few more houses over the next week, mostly in the evenings and occasionally during the day if the child happened to have a stay-at-home parent. The whole assignment was dragged out because of it, but Granger said she could not do anything about people’s other commitments. Draco wanted to ask why she hadn’t made the Muggles agree to whatever time she’d arranged them, like he was sure she’d done to the two families that they’d missed on the first day. It would only take a Confundus Charm or a simple memory spell. In the end, he chose to hold his tongue.

Another odd thing about Granger was that she still let him perform magic in front of the Muggle parents. During the few times he was allowed, Draco tried a variety, from Charms to Transfiguration, though he did keep live animals out of the equation. It was only after a slightly unpleasant occurrence nearly a week into their arrangement that she’d confronted him about it. Draco had dyed his eyebrows green then changed them back, which had freaked the Muggles out a little. Of course, Granger had stepped in and assured the parents that their child wouldn't be learning anything of the sort until they reached their final year and were deemed responsible enough.

When they finally got out of the house, Draco’d expected her to yell at him, much like she had done on the first day, but all Granger said was, 'Why are you doing it?'

'Doing what?' he asked in surprise.

'Using a different spell every time,’ she said; her voice was more curious than angry. 'Not that any of them've been harmful or anything, but you don't really need to go to all that length, do you? Some of them are quite complex.'

He shrugged. ‘N.E.W.T.s are in two weeks. And practising in front of a younger version of Mad Eye isn't exactly helping.'

Her eyes flashed as he mentioned the name, but she quickly covered it with a casual response. ‘All right, then.’

After that, she let him carry out most of the demonstrations. They had lunch together in the Leaky Cauldron on the days when meetings were scheduled both in the morning and afternoon, and she would ask him to cast the most peculiar of spells during these lunch breaks.

'You never know if they will come up in the test,' she said every time he complained about the ridiculousness of the requests.

He would never admit it out loud, but he enjoyed having lunch with Granger, bizarre spells notwithstanding. His complaint had become just a custom of sorts.

'You should just listen to me,’ she said one day. ‘I'm the Transfiguration master, you know.'

'Well, well, Professor Granger, wait until the Ministry hears about you stealthily revealing exam materials to me.'

‘I’d like to see you try, Mr Malfoy.’ She laughed heartily. ‘I'm not the one who sets the exams anyway. In fact, none of the professors do. Maybe I'm just more familiar with the curriculum than you are.'

He merely shrugged and proceeded to shoot a few arrows into the target Granger had kindly provided (safety first, as she had insisted).

***

‘What’s the meaning of “ehwaz”?’ asked Hermione as she and Malfoy descended the stairs of the old mansion block. Quizzing Malfoy with random N.E.W.T. questions had become a habit for her. The purpose, as she told herself, was merely to help him prepare. To be honest, though, it was also to take her mind off things.

Malfoy was usually quick to answer, but this time Hermione waited a long while without receiving any kind of response. ‘Malfoy, I asked you what “ehwaz” means.’

‘Oh, right, “ehwaz”.’ He frowned. ‘Partnership?’

Hermione nodded. ‘I confused it with “eihwaz”, which means “defence”, during O.W.L.s. Just thought you may need a word of caution.’

‘Okay, thanks,’ said Malfoy. They had reached the bottom stair and were about to get outside of the building when he turned to her and asked, ‘Leaky Cauldron as usual?’

‘Why travel that far when we can eat right here?’

‘So, you know a wizarding place in Edin-’ He stopped short. ‘You didn’t mean going to a Muggle restaurant, did you?’

‘Why not?’ She smirked at the look on Malfoy’s face. ‘When we came here this morning, I saw a sushi bar just around the corner. I haven’t had any in ages.’

For a moment, Hermione thought Malfoy was going to argue, but then he shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

Not knowing how to take his lack of objection, she simply beckoned him to follow. Sure enough, as soon as they entered the restaurant, the usual Malfoy was back with plenty of comments to offer on its many inadequate features, from the conveyor belt (‘How is one supposed to look at his food if it keeps moving like that?’) to the raw fish in the dishes (‘Barbaric Muggles!’).

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘For someone who cannot see the food, you’ve done a superb job at noticing its rawness. Besides, I’m pretty sure Japanese wizards eat this sort of dish, too.’

It was rather early for lunch, so most of the seats were still vacant. Hermione chose to sit near the middle of the oval belt-not that it would make much difference in terms of getting the food, but the lighting seemed a bit brighter there.

She got herself a dish of chicken teriyaki rolls and told Malfoy to choose one as well so that they could have a taste of both. He made a face then snatched the nearest plate that was passing by.

‘I wouldn’t try something with so much seaweed the first time around. Here, maybe you should try some of these.’

He stubbornly held on to the seaweed-topped sushi, which he then attempted to pick up with a pair of chopsticks. They kept slipping out of his hand.

Hermione chuckled as she washed her hands with the sanitiser she’d brought in her bag and ate her sushi by hand.

Malfoy was still struggling with his chopsticks. ‘It’s not like you can use them, either.’

‘No, I gave up on them long ago. Hand sanitiser is now my best friend.’ She nudged the bottle towards him, but Malfoy didn’t take it. After a few more failed attempts with the chopsticks, he simply grabbed one of the seaweed-topped rolls, stuffed it into his mouth, and grimaced.

‘It’s not that bad,’ said Hermione. ‘Just try the chicken one first.’

He ignored her proffered plate.

‘Fine, if you want to sulk, I’ll just go back to enjoying my meal.’

She did just that, figuring he would cave in eventually when he was hungry. But even after she’d finished her dish and then another, Malfoy continued sitting with his arm crossed.

She took a plate of cucumber maki-the safest choice one could make-and deliberately put it in the middle. ‘Malfoy, aren’t you going to eat something?’

He didn’t reply.

‘We could still go to the Leaky Cauldron for something if you want,’ she persisted, this time poking his arm with the end of her unused chopsticks. ‘Our next appointment won’t start until three.’

‘Just forget it.’

So, Hermione let it drop. They did not talk to one another for the rest of the afternoon.

***

Although Malfoy had seemed pretty cross the previous day, Hermione hadn’t anticipated him not showing up on Saturday morning. She’d thought that they’d been making progress in the past two weeks, but apparently just one argument over Muggle food had brought everything back to square one. Or worse. At least, he'd shown his face before.

It was fifteen minutes to their first and only appointment for the day, and Hermione couldn’t wait any longer. She needed to go get Malfoy if she didn’t want to be late. Despite having been given access to Malfoy Manor by the Ministry, she’d managed to avoid it, until now. Hermione sighed. At least she could use one of the fireplaces here in the Atrium to Floo there and steer clear of walking up to the gate.

When Hermione got out at the other end, she was relieved to not recognise the interior. It seemed that Malfoy had anticipated her arrival and sent a house-elf to wait for her-not to welcome but to inform her that he’d come down with food poisoning and hence needed a day off. Hermione’s blood boiled at such an obvious lie. Fortunately, she had enough self-control to refrain from taking out her anger on the poor elf. It took quite a bit of coaxing before the creature agreed to take her to Malfoy.

She entered the study to find him leaning back in his leather armchair, hand swirling a glass half-full of amber liquid. A newly-opened bottle of Firewhiskey could be seen on the desk.

‘Granger, you shouldn’t be here. Surely, you’ve been informed that I am currently indisposed?’

‘Seriously, Malfoy, food poisoning? If you are going to make up excuses to avoid work, do try something a bit more convincing.’

Malfoy took a sip from his glass and regarded her unabashedly. ‘If you hadn’t insisted on that Muggle-’

‘You barely ate anything there,’ she snapped.

Malfoy continued to sip his wine without responding.

‘Food-poisoning patients do not lounge in their study and drink Firewhisky, Malfoy,’ said Hermione as she approached the desk and picked up the bottle.

‘Let’s just say I’m merely helping you find a suitable reason for my absence to include in today’s report.’

Hermione set the bottle back down with a thud. She took out her wand and cast a Sobering Charm on Malfoy. The effect was instant. He clutched his head and groaned. Headaches were a side-effect of this particular charm.

Hermione turned on her heel and strode towards the door. ‘You can either get up and go with me, Malfoy, or prepare to go back to Azkaban.’

She could hear the scrape of Malfoy’s chair on the floor and then his footsteps.

‘I wasn’t even drunk,’ he grumbled, catching up with her.

‘You’ve consumed alcohol, and I need you to be fully alert for the meeting,’ said Hermione, allowing herself a small smile. The side-effect of her spell would persist for at least another half hour. That would do to teach him a lesson.

***

'Good morning! You must be Mr and Mrs Howard. I am Professor Hermione Granger, and this is my assist-'

The couple before Hermione looked at her as though she had sprouted an extra head. She glanced to her side and realised what was wrong. Malfoy, who had been there when she’d first knocked on the door, had now disappeared.

‘Sorry, I said that out of habit,’ said Hermione with an awkward smile. ‘My assistant called in sick today.’

Mr Howard simply frowned at her, but Mrs Howard returned a rather forced smile and invited her in. Hermione mentally cursed Malfoy. It seemed she’d have to do this alone after all.

***

After the meeting, which went well despite its bumpy start, Hermione set out to look for Malfoy. She could not let him think that he could get away with that type of behaviour. Besides, Malfoy depended on her to be able to get home. As per the Ministry’s arrangement, he was not allowed to practise magic in her absence, and there were no wizarding venues nearby to use the Floo.

She did contemplate leaving him to find his own way back as a kind of punishment. That way, she wouldn’t have to search on foot or cast a Locating Spell. But she knew that would be childish. They needed a proper conversation.

Even though there was no one else on the street at the moment, Hermione hugged her handbag to herself and hid her wand beneath it. The gesture, then the incantation of the spell, brought back a sense of déjà vu and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, but the instant buzz of her wand jolted her back to the task at hand. She followed the wand’s direction through a few streets and eventually found herself standing at the entrance of a lounge bar. Apparently, for alcohol, Malfoy'd been prepared to lower his standards and step into a Muggle establishment.

Given the morning hour, Malfoy was the sole customer sitting at the counter. The bartender seemed to have left him there to nurse his bottle of whiskey in solitude. A lonely shot glass had been pushed to the far side of counter, clearly abandoned from a while ago. He must have noticed her approaching footsteps, for he swivelled around on his stool, purportedly to see the source of the sound. He would have ended up on the floor if Hermione hadn’t been close enough to catch his arm before he fell.

‘For the love of God, what do you think you’re doing?’

Malfoy stared at her for a moment.

‘Ahhh, Grrranger,’ he bellowed. ‘Just the person I wanted to see.’

The bartender, who had just come out from the back after hearing the ruckus, cast them a dubious look. Hermione gave him a brief nod before turning back to Malfoy. She was tempted to use the Sobering Charm on him once more, but it was inadvisable to repeat such a spell within a short interval. Not to mention the fact that they would have a Muggle witness. Whatever Malfoy’s problem was, she just had to wait until tomorrow morning, when he was sober.

She wondered what could have caused such a 180-degree change in his behaviour in the last two days. This morning, she had been convinced that he’d just been infuriated by the fact that he hadn’t gotten his way. Now, that argument didn’t quite cut it.

Hermione heaved a sigh. ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’

'I don't want to.' Malfoy swatted her supporting arms away and nearly tripped on a nearby stool.

'I thought that was where you wanted to be this morning.’

The bartender cleared his throat. ‘I presume you will be paying for him, ma’am.’

Hermione was caught off guard. Had Malfoy gone to the bar without bringing any Muggle money at all? She didn’t know whether the fact enraged or worried her.

‘Certainly,’ she said to the bartender.

She hauled Malfoy back onto the stool to free her hands and get her purse, with him grunting at her all the while, though she could only make out the words: ‘Managed... get out of it...’

After paying for the liquor came the struggle of getting him out of the door. By the time they reached the outside, Hermione didn’t think she would be able to drag him to a hidden spot to Disapparate. She looked up and down the street. It was deserted. She just had to hope that no one would turn up and see Malfoy and her disappear. Then again, it might be impossible to go unnoticed with Malfoy continuously spouting random expletives.

Hermione considered going to Malfoy Manor, but recalling how much Malfoy had seemed to dislike the option, she decided against it. Merely to save the elves the trouble of dealing with him, she assured herself. Still, she didn't know what possessed her to bring him back to her flat.

'D’you know what day it is, Granger?' he hollered as they more or less staggered towards the couch.

'Stay here,' she told him.

Hermione came back from the kitchen with a small phial of Sober-Up Potion and a mug of water. The potion she had in her cabinet wasn’t nearly as effective as the charm she’d used on Malfoy earlier, but it would have to do. She had to force the potion down his throat, but once he’d drunk it (grunting, scowling, and all), he accepted the water without complaint and downed it all in one go. Instead of setting the mug down on the coffee table, he kept it wrapped in both hands while he leaned his elbows on his knees, his shoulders slumped. Given Malfoy’s current state, maybe it was best to get the mug out of the way, so she went to take it from him. For one moment, Hermione was bent over him, their fingers brushing.

'This day.... last year... he was Kissed.' His voice was barely above a whisper.

‘Who was...’ The question died on her lips. Suddenly, it hit her. The distractedness... the defensive behaviour... the drinking... they all made perfect sense now.

'I'm sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn't know.'

She placed the mug on the coffee table and then sat herself down on the couch, making sure to keep a bit of distance between them. Tentatively, she reached for his hand. When he didn’t pull away, she gave it a small squeeze.

‘I am sorry, Draco.’ She didn’t know why she’d switched to calling him by his first name; it just seemed appropriate. She wondered whether she should say something more, offering some words of comfort or admitting that she could relate to him. But in many ways, their situations were different, and this was not about her. Besides, burdening him with her own demons would not help, would it?

In the end, Hermione stayed silent. She could feel something wet land on her hand atop his. She withdrew it, causing him to look up, his eyes glassy and still a bit dazed from the effect of alcohol. She moved closer and threw her arms around him in a hug. He didn’t protest, but it took a while for him to relax into her embrace.

He buried his face on her shoulder. The tears were coming harder, she could tell, as they seeped into her shirt. She didn’t mind. Nor did she say anything. She knew he would need time to let it all out.

'I used to scoff at people who go to the cemetery to visit the dead.’ His voice, low and hoarse against the silence of the room, somewhat startled her. ‘There's nothing but the bodies... bones and skin and dust underneath those tombstones.’ He sniffed. ‘Find the ghost if you want, but going to the tomb is just too damn stupid. And if there's no ghost, if they've already moved on, then they’re no longer here, anyway. Just a bloody waste of time.’

Hermione could feel his shoulders shaking, so she tightened her embrace. It was only a small physical comfort, but there was not much else she could do.

‘But now...’ he continued, swallowing back tears, ‘now I think I sort of understand. Because maybe our loved ones will come back to visit us on that day. Funny thing, I don't even have a tombstone to go to when I've finally figured it out.' He gave a hollow laugh. 'There’s nothing left of him, Granger. Nothing...’

The confession seemed to bring another onslaught of emotions, and he started to sob quietly against her shoulder. Hermione found it hard to wrap her mind around it. Then again, she had known, through Harry’s story, that this side of him existed. She had just forgotten about it, being too engrossed in her own problems to notice.

Hermione didn’t know how long they’d stayed like that, but the sobs finally stopped.

‘Draco?’

The only response she got was his steady breathing. He had fallen asleep. Hermione tried to extricate herself without rousing him, but one of her arms was stuck beneath his sleeping form. She sighed and leaned back on the couch. Perhaps this would give her some time to think.

***

Draco did not wake up until it was already getting dark outside. He quickly realised that he was in Granger’s flat. He didn’t remember getting here, but he could recall most of the events after she gave him the Sober-Up Potion. Granger was pretending to be asleep. He knew but didn’t point it out. It was better that way. He left the flat using the Floo powder on her mantelpiece.

The next time they met, she did not mention or allude to the incident, and for that, he was grateful. They acted as though nothing had happened, even though it was rather strained at first.

However, he told her that he was all right with getting Muggle food for lunch. Today, Granger seemed to be in a good mood as they entered the Italian restaurant she’d picked.

'You were such a good actor in there, Malfoy,’ she said, smiling. ‘Could’ve fooled me.’

‘Me admiring you? Can you think of a better way to show that things are changing for the better regarding the blood prejudice?’

‘Well, perhaps not. Still, I was rather surprised Mr and Mrs Taylor didn't fear that the professors at Hogwarts would be too busy sharing significant looks to teach their son anything.' She blushed, apparently only realising the implication after she’d said it. 'I thought we'd agreed not to lie to them, though.'

'It's just a harmless white lie,' replied Draco. He must admit that he might have overdone it, but it wasn't a lie. Not really.

She nodded.

'Besides, it's not like I'll be at Hogwarts.'

At this reminder, her expression turned serious. 'Have you considered any job that you'd like to apply for once you've got your N.E.W.T.s?'

'I haven't,’ he said. ‘Though hardly any place would be eager to take on a former Death Eater, anyway.'

Granger frowned. 'Hmm, maybe you can be at Hogwarts. Slughorn’s talking about retiring. You should apply for the Potions post.'

'I will only have just completed N.E.W.T.s then-that is, if I happen to pass them. Who would want a professor like that?’

'Just apply. I got Transfiguration right after my N.E.W.T.s, too.'

‘Not surprising for someone who got seven “Outstandings”?'

Granger shook her head. ‘No, actually I only got six.’

‘Not all “O”s then?’

'No, I meant six N.E.W.T.s.’ She looked down intently at her plate. ‘I failed Potions.’

Draco’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He didn't know what to say to that.

Eventually, it was Granger who broke the awkward silence. 'But that doesn't mean I'm not good enough to quiz you on it. What are the ingredients for the Draught of Living Death?'

He played along, pretending to be indignant at such an easy question.

'Just answer it.' She chuckled, but he knew the mirth didn’t reach her eyes. They never discussed anything about her N.E.W.T.s again.

Nearly three weeks had passed since Draco first started working with Granger. Although the project hadn't officially finished, they hadn't met one another for a few days. Only one meeting remained, delayed until now merely because this particular family had refused Granger’s attempts at contact several times.

Granger owled him, saying that he could take the day off to have more revision time for his N.E.W.T.s, which would start the following Monday. She’d even assured him that since it was her decision, he would not get into trouble with the Ministry. He said he would go, however, on the pretext that he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Although he believed in Granger’s ability to handle things, he didn't want her to face the difficult meeting alone.

They met at the Ministry as usual. It was pouring outside, but Granger dismissed his suggestion of using an Impervius Charm and insisted on carrying umbrellas. She wanted to appear as normal as possible before going into their explanation about magic. He didn’t know what had happened during the few times she’d tried to speak to these parents on the telephone, but she seemed nervous. He could definitely see her hand waver just before she knocked on the front door.

***

Hermione ran. She could not stop the tears rolling down her cheeks, but it didn’t matter. It was nothing compared to the rain pelting down on her. She had been stupid, so stupid to have left both her wand and bag at the Wilkes’ house. Then again, being soaked, or suffering anything else, for that matter, was better than staying there to face them.

Yet, she hadn’t really escaped, had she? Their voices played over and over in her head like a broken record.

How do we know he won’t do anything harmful to us once he’s studied magic?

That she could not guarantee. She herself had made that mistake. She knew firsthand how dangerous magic could be no matter how well-meaning the user was.

She had wanted to protect her parents. Instead, she’d erased their lives and never been able to bring them back.

Hermione came to a halt when she reached the Thames. She slouched on the railing of the river path, alone and shivering. Nobody was crazy enough to go to the river in this type of weather. Then, she heard heavy footsteps. Someone was running.

‘Granger.’ He was behind her before she could react, turning her about and wrapping his suit jacket around her. It had been water-proofed, she noticed.

‘What was wrong in there?’ He kept his hands on her arms, forcing her to face him.

‘I did that to my parents, Malfoy.’

‘I’m sure it can’t b-’

‘I harmed my parents using magic,’ she said, louder than before. ‘Sometimes... sometimes I think... if I hadn’t gone to Hogwarts...’

She trailed off, sobbing. He probably couldn’t hear her over the rain, but she knew he could see her body wracked with sobs. He folded his arms around her and she let him. She realised that his shirt was also soaked now, but it didn’t bother her as she buried her face in his chest. The tears did not cease, yet somehow she found the strength to talk, to let it out.

‘It was before seventh year,’ she said. ‘I knew I was going with Harry, and I knew Death Eaters would probably come after my parents to bait me. I modified their memories and sent them to Australia. I intended to bring them back after the war if I survived.’ She paused, catching her breath. Malfoy didn’t say anything, so she took it as reassurance to go on. ‘I bought a flat in London to prepare for their return; I cast a location spell on the map of Australia to search for them. The day of the Potions N.E.W.T., the spell finally found a match, so I dropped the exam and went. I found them but couldn’t reverse it. The effect was permanent.’

‘So, that’s why you don’t have Potions...’ he said softly.

‘Not exactly. They offered me a supplementary exam-extraordinary circumstance, war heroine and all that,’ she replied between hiccups. ‘I couldn’t go through with it.’

Again, she almost choked on the words. Malfoy started rubbing soothing circles on her back. It helped. Hermione drew in a deep breath. The scents of the rain, of him were comforting. ‘I can’t blame you for not going after Slughorn’s post, either. I didn’t even apply. McGonagall offered and I just took it, thinking at least I wouldn’t make anyone else worry. They would think that I was okay...’

‘But you’re not,’ he murmured.

Hermione shook her head. ‘I’m not. I’m glad that you came with me today.’

‘Me too.’

‘Christopher will never get to go to Hogwarts now, though.’

‘Don’t worry, he will. I’ve made sure of it.’

‘Did you threaten his parents or something?’ she asked, feeling the last of her tears drying up. When he didn’t answer, she added, ‘I wouldn’t mind if you had.’

Malfoy chuckled. Hermione couldn’t hear the sound, but she could feel the vibration of his chest as he did.

'No, I told them that if they didn't let Christopher go to Hogwarts, magic would still be a part of him. That he would always feel like an outcast in the Muggle world, and that it would be better for him to have our guidance.’

Hermione felt her eyes prickle again, this time for a very different reason. He remembered.

She sniffed, and Malfoy held her closer. ‘You know what I should have added? I should’ve told them that if Christopher ever makes a mistake, like any human being is prone to do, he will have friends who stick by him to try and find a solution, no matter how long it takes.’

He did not say they would succeed. It might take forever, for all she knew. Still, for the first time in months, Hermione felt that she was going to be okay.

THE END